Breaking Rules
by Empathist
Summary: This takes place in 2009 and 2010, before Brendan Brady arrived in Hollyoaks. It begins when he is working at Danny Houston's club in Liverpool, and follows his return to Belfast and his relationship with Macca.
1. Chapter 1

**This story takes place in 2009 and 2010, before Brendan Brady moved to Hollyoaks.**

The final straws had been stacking up for a while.

Danny Houston had been dropping into the Liverpool club more often than usual. He had every right: he owned the place. But Brendan didn't need him breathing down his neck; he liked to run this place his own way and if Houston didn't like it, well, he shouldn't have hired him. Brendan wondered if word had reached his boss that Houston's drugs were not the only ones being sold on the premises. But the Irishman figured that as he was the one taking all the risks – Danny always kept his own hands clean – then it was only fair that he should take a slice of the market for himself.

Then there was Vinnie, one of the young barmen, who was becoming a problem. Things had started as Brendan had planned. He'd watched the lad, assessed him, worked out that he was likely to be compliant. Seduced him. Knocked him about a bit so he'd know who was boss, who called the shots. Sex with intimidation.

Vinnie could have quit if he didn't like it, but he stayed, and did everything by the rules. He never approached Brendan or touched him without Brendan initiating it. Never challenged him. Never said no. So Brendan found that he could leave out the intimidation and still have the sex; he found too that he couldn't get enough of the boy, longing for closing time so they could be alone. They would fuck on a red leather sofa in one of the booths, and sometimes they'd have a few drinks too, and chat and have a laugh. They started going back to Brendan's flat, but there were rules there too: Vinnie knew not to outstay his welcome and would leave without any fuss when Brendan fell asleep or went to have a shower.

Once though, Vinnie broke a rule that he didn't know existed: he told Brendan that he loved him. The response was a punch that sent him flying. Vinnie learnt this new rule, and was eventually coaxed back into Brendan's bed.

Brendan tried to keep Houston and Vinnie separate. Houston was perceptive, and sly. One day he showed up at the club and, in the middle of a business conversation said, "I was going to drop round at yours last night, Brendan, when I got back from London, only I saw you had company."

"Company?" Brendan tried to appear composed, but he could feel prickles of sweat.

"Yeah, that skinny little barman, what's his name, Vinnie?"

"Vincent."

"You and him were going into your block and I thought, I dunno, three's a crowd."

"He needed a... a place to stay. Got locked out or something..." Brendan was aware how lame this must sound.

"None of my business. Long as this place keeps running how I like it." Then Houston returned to the accounts, or the order books, or whatever it was that they'd been talking about: Brendan could only hear the pounding of his own heart.

The last of the last straws came a few nights later. Brendan had locked himself and Vinnie in the club (he didn't take him home any more) and Vinnie was naked by the time Brendan arrived in their usual booth. Brendan laughed at the boy's eagerness and kissed him softly, his hands caressing his now familiar body. Then Vinnie pulled away, looked up into his boss's eyes and said, "I know you don't want me to say it, but..."

"Vincent, don't."

"It's okay Bren, it's not a bad thing, it's a good thing." He swallowed, gathering his courage. "I'm in love with you."

That wasn't how this was meant to work. It was an arrangement, gratification; they were both men, how could it be anything else? Brendan grabbed hold of Vinnie and threw him out of the booth onto the cold, hard dance floor, strode over to him and aimed a kick at his stomach. Vinnie doubled up and let out a cry of pain. He heard Brendan walk away, then heard his footsteps return a moment later. Desperate, he scrambled to get away, but all Brendan did was throw his clothes at him.

"You had to, didn't you? You couldn't keep your stupid mouth shut." Brendan was shaking. "You're okay, yeah? Course you are. Get dressed now and I'll get you a cab."

That was when Brendan decided to leave Liverpool for good and go home to Belfast.

He made plans quickly, while Vinnie was off work sick and Houston was in London. He arranged for the deputy manager, Deborah, to take over for the next few days, telling her that he was going home to visit his wife and kids. He cleared his desk, made sure the books were up to date, secured his set of keys in the safe, and left during the Friday evening. He drove to his flat, picked up his stuff and posted the keys through the letter box.

Heading out of the city centre, he took a route that passed the student house where Vinnie lived. He stopped. The light was on in Vinnie's room (Brendan had been there, once, when the other students had all gone home for Easter. They'd fucked on the single bed, then Vinnie had cooked them some pasta, then they'd fucked some more.) For a moment Brendan thought he would knock on the door, ask for Vincent, and tell him that he was sorry, that he hadn't meant to hurt him, that he cared about him in his own way. All these things were true, but he knew he would never say them. Could never.

He started the car and drove, too quickly, out through the Mersey tunnel and on to the ferry port.


	2. Chapter 2

Now that he'd made the decision to leave Liverpool, Brendan felt a sense of urgency to enact it. It was this feeling that compelled him to drive so quickly away from the city, and he arrived at the port with time to spare before the 10.30pm ferry would sail.

He waited in the car and stared through the windscreen, trying to suppress a rising doubt as to whether he was doing the right thing. He wanted to see his sons, that was the thing he was certain about. He told himself he wanted to see Eileen too: she was his wife after all, and the only woman he'd ever looked at. It was going to be tricky though, he could see that. Their conversations on the phone had become briefer and chillier as the months had gone by, and he wondered how she would greet him when he got home tomorrow.

Then there was what he was leaving behind. The job managing the club was a good one, he was pretty much his own boss except for when Danny Houston put in an appearance to check how his investment was running. The pay was good – this was what had sold to Eileen the idea of him working away from home. She liked not having to worry about where the money was coming from each month; before, it had fluctuated depending on Brendan's luck. He hadn't told her that the reason the money was so good was was that he was dealing for Houston and, when the opportunity was there, for himself. Eileen thought that he was legit now. It was for the best that she didn't know the truth.

It was for the best, too, that he was leaving Vinnie behind. Things had soured between them because of what Brendan had done to him, all the kinds of pain he had inflicted. He'd asked for it, the stupid little bastard, getting sentimental like that. But Brendan felt a knot in his stomach when he recalled how Vinnie had looked at him when he'd punched the boy to the ground.

Leaving was the right thing to do, Brendan decided. Vinnie would be safe now.

Brendan drove into the queue ready to board the ferry. While all the cars waited, he picked up his phone from the passenger seat and made two calls.

First, he called Eileen.

"Brendan what is it? You know the boys wake up if the phone rings this time of night."

Fuck. Great start. "Sorry. Just wanted to let you know I'll be home tomorrow for Padraig's birthday, okay? Getting the ferry now."

"How long you staying?" Eileen didn't sound overjoyed.

Brendan swallowed. "Not sure sweetheart, but I don't have to rush back, so..."

"You've been fired haven't you?"

Brendan's fingers tightened around his phone and he fought to keep his voice even. "No, it's fine, it's all fine. See you tomorrow yeah? Tell the boys for me."

The second call was to Danny Houston. Brendan pressed the number then shut his eyes, willing it to go straight to voicemail. His luck was in.

"Danny. Brendan Brady. This is... my resignation I guess. My boy Declan, he's got this condition, you know," (This was true) "and Eileen needs me home," (This was less true) "so I'm on my way now. Everything's sorted at the club, Deborah's a great girl, she can manage the place fine til you get someone else." Then an afterthought. Shit. "I've still got the car, I'll bring it back next time I'm over." Houston wasn't going to like that.

Brendan ended the call, relieved at least to have got it over with. He threw his mobile back onto the seat as the cars at the front of the queue moved forward to roll onto the ferry; picked it up again; and began to punch in a text message.

_Vincent am going back to Belfast for good. Never meant to hurt you. Safer without me. Brendan._

He read it back, and deleted it.

_Vincent. Gone home for good. Sorry. BB x_

He backspaced to delete the _x_ and pressed 'send.'

Almost immediately, the phone rang. He knew it was Vinnie before he looked at the screen, and pressed 'reject.'

He started the car again and drove onto the ferry. His phone beeped. By the time he'd parked and found his cabin, there were four text messages from Vinnie. Brendan sat on one of the beds. He had a four-berth cabin to himself for the overnight trip, but it felt cramped and airless. He leaned forward, head in hands, and stayed like that for a few minutes. Then he sat up and read the texts: he couldn't not.

#1 _How long u gone for? Call me pls. Vinnie_

#2 _Just let me know ur ok_

#3 _Is it true u gone for good? Pls answer Bren I'm worried cos u didn't tell me_

#4 _Sorry I did things wrong pls forgive I won't do it again I will be better. Pls Bren_

Brendan felt tears searing his eyes. Blindly, he scrabbled in his holdall for the bottle of whiskey he'd brought from the club, opened it, and took two or three gulps which burned his throat. He rubbed his eyes with his knuckles, then picked up his phone and deleted the four messages one by one. The phone sounded again, making him jump; this time he deleted Vinnie's message without reading it, and then scrolled through the menu, selected the option 'block number,' hesitated for a moment, and pressed 'confirm.' Then he switched it off.

He felt the ferry begin its journey away from Liverpool.


	3. Chapter 3

Brendan woke very early and it took him a few moments to remember that he was on a ferry, heading home. He was still in his clothes, and the whiskey bottle beside him was half empty.

He had a wash and a shave, wincing slightly at his own reflection. His eyes looked tired and red.

The crossing from Liverpool to Belfast took eight hours. Brendan was the first passenger to his car, impatient to disembark so that he could regain control of his journey. As soon as he drove off, he left the port and followed familiar roads, stopping at a working men's cafe where he ordered a cooked breakfast. He ate ravenously: all he'd had since yesterday lunchtime was half a bottle of Jameson's. His first mug of tea didn't touch the sides, then he asked for a second and some more toast, which he consumed more slowly. Brendan felt calmer once he'd eaten, as he always did: physical satisfaction was soothing to him.

By the time he had finished his breakfast and driven into town, the shops were open. Brendan left the car in a side street and went first to buy a couple of DVDs for Declan, then to a toyshop for Padraig's birthday present. He took his time choosing, eventually deciding on a racing car set that reminded him of the one he'd had as a boy, which he'd had to leave behind in Dublin when his mum suddenly decided they should up sticks and follow his dad to Belfast.

He had it gift-wrapped.

:::::::

Brendan delayed going home as long as he could. He knew his son's birthday party was due to start at noon, and he didn't want to get there before that and have to face Eileen without other people around. He was too tired to deal with her sniping, and she'd be less likely to be like that if they had company. If, on the other hand, she was glad to see him, her affection would be less demonstrative if there was an audience.

He drove around for a while, checking out some of his old haunts. At both of the clubs in which Danny Houston had an interest, Brendan stopped to check that the licensees' names above the doors hadn't changed. They hadn't. Good: better the devil you know, and he was going to need his old contacts when it came to making some money.

He passed the end of an alley where once he'd had to sort out some lad who, randomly, had recognised him from an encounter they'd had when Brendan had been over in Manchester on a business trip. He'd made sure, in that alley, that the lad would keep his mouth shut. Brendan shuddered at the memory.

When he couldn't put it off any longer, Brendan headed out to the suburbs and drew up outside his house. He sat for a minute, then grabbed from the back seat the things he'd bought for the kids, slammed the car door and went home.

It was a small terraced house with a bit of garden. It wasn't in a great neighbourhood, so the rent was low enough that Brendan had been able to find the money for it even when he'd had cashflow problems. Eileen had been keen because it was close to the primary school and a short walk from her parents' house; Brendan had been happy to go along with it, because he'd had in his mind the idea that he would be getting away soon, and it would be good for Eileen to have family nearby. As it turned out, the job in Liverpool had come up just after they'd moved in, so Brendan had barely lived there and felt like a visitor.

He didn't use his key, but rang the bell. Eileen opened the door. The birthday party was well under way, a mob of small children in full cry and a handful of adults milling around the small sitting room and spilling into the garden. Brendan spotted Eileen's mother and one of her sisters, a couple of people who were parents of some of the kids, he supposed, and Eileen's nephew Macca.

"Thought you'd be here hours ago," Eileen said. "That ferry gets in at six thirty."

So this was how it was going to be. Brendan kissed his wife lightly on the lips.

"Had a few things to do. Where's my boys?"

:::::::

A couple of hours later when the party was over, Brendan was left with a series of moments in his head.

~His sons' initial shyness, which lessened once he'd knelt to play with them and they'd remembered who he was.

~The banner that read _Happy Birthday Paddy_, and Eileen informing him, "We all call him Paddy now." Then Macca saying quietly – but loudly enough so Brendan would hear - "I'll always call you Padraig, so you won't forget it when your daddy's away." Brendan's hackles had risen, until he realised from Macca's demeanour that, far from it being a comment on Brendan's frequent absence, this lad had registered Brendan's hurt and was being kind.

~Brendan's younger sister Cheryl bursting into the party. He was in the kitchen when he heard her, and stood leaning against the door frame watching her doing an ungainly dance with the kids, singing tunelessly but with gusto. When the music stopped she'd turned and noticed her brother, and the room filled with sunshine. Cheryl loped towards him and threw herself into his arms, and the two held each other tightly. For the first time, Brendan felt as if he had come home.

:::::::

Everyone else had gone leaving Eileen, Brendan, Cheryl and Macca to clear up, with Cheryl chattering away so that all that was required of the other three was the occasional word in reply. Padraig and Declan were hyper, but Brendan got them to sit on the floor with him and show him their toys. They had changed since his last visit, but to Brendan's relief they had already accepted him, talking nineteen to the dozen, giggling at his teasing, and cuddling him back when he put his arms around them. They were the best, the purest thing in Brendan's life.

Cheryl had to leave to do the evening shift in the pub where she worked behind the bar. She kissed her nephews and Eileen, then flung her arms round her brother again.

"Don't you dare disappear off to England again, Brendan Brady. D'you promise?"

"I promise, sis."

"See you soon then love, okay?"

"Want me to drop you at work?"

"It's okay Bren, Macca's gonna walk with me, it's on his way." She made to leave, but turned back and asked, "You really won't go anywhere?"

"I promised didn't I?" He kissed her forehead. "You've got nothing to worry about, Chez."

"C'mon lady," Macca said, "You can buy me a drink. Good to see you, Brendan. So long."

Eileen and Brendan stood for a moment, then Eileen turned to the boys and said, "Right, you two monkeys, bath then bed."

Brendan scooped his sons up in a bear hug and kissed them both. "Do as your mum says."

As the children left the room with their mother, Declan turned to Brendan and asked, "Will you still be here when I wake up, Dad?"

"Course I will, and I'll eat your breakfast if you're not careful." Brendan felt hollow with guilt.

He went to the kitchen and quickly made a pile of sandwiches. He'd eaten lots of snacks during Padraig's party, but was hungry again. Eileen joined him when the boys were in bed, and they sat at the kitchen table and talked for the first time since he'd arrived. Brendan was up to speed with the children's progress and how Declan was coping with his medical condition, because these were the things he always asked Eileen about on the phone. So now, she told him about her colleagues at her part-time job, and Macca's steady boyfriend, and her mum's win on the bingo. Brendan gave in return an edited version of his work in Liverpool, and his leaving of it, and the people he'd known there.

When she'd stacked the plates in the sink, Eileen went back to Brendan and said, "I'm sorry I snapped at you before, Bren, I was just feeling a bit, you know..."

He stood and wrapped her in his arms, saying gently, "Hey, that's okay, I understand." He kissed the top of her head, held her a little longer, then: "I'd better get my stuff from the car."

Outside, as he took his bags from the boot, he noticed a fox twenty feet away under a streetlamp, eating from a discarded chip wrapper. They exchanged a mildly curious glance, then the fox ambled away into the night, and Brendan walked back into the house.

"I'm dead on my feet, sweetheart," he said to Eileen. "I'm gonna have a shower and turn in." He went upstairs and dumped his bags in the bedroom. He was glad to get out of yesterday's clothes, and spent ten minutes in the shower, keeping the water so hot that his skin reddened. Then he dried himself, put on a pair of boxers and got into bed.

He heard the shower turn on again, and off. When he heard Eileen turn out the bathroom light, he rolled away from her side of the bed, and pretended to be asleep.


	4. Chapter 4

Sunday morning.

Unlike the previous fractured night on the ferry, Brendan had slept deeply, waking only once and plunging straight back to sleep when he registered that the gently breathing body next to him wasn't Vinnie.

He was woken by the sounds of his children and the smell of bacon frying. When he went downstairs, breakfast was waiting for him, and the boys greeted him excitedly. For them, having their father home was a novelty.

Eileen waited until Brendan had cleared his plate before broaching the subject of Mass: she wanted them to go as a family this morning.

"Eileen, it's not my thing, you know that." Brendan had been raised a Catholic and something of the faith was ingrained in him, but he had no time for the organised side of it, the ceremony, the sermonising.

"Just this once love, please. For me and the boys, yeah? You don't know what it's been like here, the gossip I've had to put up with."

"About me?" Brendan suppressed a wave of panic.

"Yes, about you! Nobody believes you just went away for work, they all think you've left us. I just want to show them they're wrong."

His pulse returned to normal.

Mass was as grim as Brendan remembered, but Eileen's purpose was served. All the chief gossip-mongers were present, and they would be quietened for a while now that they had seen Brendan with his family, pointedly holding his wife's hand and charming everyone he spoke to after the service. The priest was the one who'd married them and baptised the children, and was an old friend of Brendan's dad.

"Brendan Brady! Looking well I see. Back for a while now, are you?"

"Father. That's the plan, yeah," Brendan replied, shifting awkwardly. Father Byrne leaned in and put a hand on Brendan's shoulder.

"You know where to find me, son, if you've anything to get off your chest."

All his mother's descriptions of the tortures that certainly awaited his father in Hell – and Brendan too if he wasn't careful – surfaced in Brendan's memory, and he extricated himself, rounded up his family and steered them away from the church. He carried Declan so they wouldn't be slowed down.

"That's it, Eileen, you've made your point. I'm done now."

Eileen looked up at him as they walked, saw the set of his jaw, and knew not to raise it again.

:::::::

Sunday lunch improved Brendan's mood no end. In the early days of their marriage, Eileen's mother had come around most days while Brendan was out, showing Eileen how to cook all the family recipes. Eileen was determined to learn, and found she had a flair for it. It was the one thing she was able to do that she was confident would satisfy her husband.

Brendan finished, leaned back in his chair and stretched like a cat. As Eileen came to take his plate, he pulled her onto his lap.

"Your mum's a clever girl isn't she?" he said to the boys, and kissed her on the cheek.

"Silly," she said, and moved to kiss him, but he stood up and turfed her off.

"You sit down, I'll clear up." He got busy.

As soon as he could, Brendan got out of the house. Eileen rolled her eyes but reasoned that he'd gone to Mass for her, so it was only fair that she should put up with his going to the pub to see his sister.

Cheryl was collecting glasses from the tables when he arrived, and almost dropped them when she saw her brother.

"Bren!" She gave him a kiss while he fielded falling glassware as best he could. He sat at the bar and Cheryl got him a large Jameson's.

"On the house."

"Cheers sis." He sipped it contentedly, and listened while Cheryl filled him in on everything that had happened since his last visit: in her life, in the lives of everyone she knew, in Northern Ireland as a whole. He indulged her like he did his sons, making the appropriate noises when she paused for breath. And anything that related to the local pubs and clubs and people he might do business with, he made a mental note of.

Two more whiskeys later, Macca dropped in.

Eileen had mentioned to Brendan yesterday that her nephew, having spent his teens since he came out going from lad to lad, had recently got himself his first actual relationship. Cheryl had confirmed it during her round-up, and Brendan had sneered, "Queers don't have 'relationships,' for fuck's sake Chez." She had told him off for being stuck in another century.

"Don't be so mean, Brendan, he's only a wee kid."

"When I was his age I was married with a kid to support." Brendan shut his eyes for a moment: there'd been his first son Declan, back then, but there should have been his daughter too. All these years later, the sudden thought of his first baby, Niamh, who had not survived, could still wind him like a blow to the chest. Cheryl squeezed his arm and told him it was okay.

When Macca came into the pub Cheryl hissed at Brendan, "Behave."

Macca sat down with a half of lager.

"So how are you doing, Bren?"

"Been hearing about your love live." He knocked back his whiskey.

"Brendan, now," Cheryl warned, fetching him another drink.

"My love life, is it? I can tell you this much, it's not gonna last long."

"Macca love, why not?"

"Chez, if you saw him you'd know. He's beautiful, I'm not joking. Platinum blond I'd call him. He looks like an angel, and a boy like that's not gonna stick with me is he? Soon as someone like Brendan here arrives on the scene, he'll be away."

"Did you just...?" Brendan stood up, the feet of the stool screeching as it slid on the wooden floor. "Are you calling me queer?"

Macca looked frightened, but stayed where he was. Cheryl was horrified.

"Brendan, Macca didn't mean anything! Are you going to sit down or am I going to have to ask you to leave?"

Brendan told himself to get a grip. He sat back down, patted Macca on the shoulder and smiled twitchily.

"I wasn't saying anything, Bren. I just meant, my fella's likely to go off with an Alpha male type, you know? And I won't stand a chance."

"It's fine, son, I'm just messing with you." Brendan laughed mirthlessly and ordered another drink, and one for Macca.

"Cheers, Bren. Anyhow, if you were gay you might be my boyfriend's type but you wouldn't be mine." Macca was trying to lighten the atmosphere. "The Magnum moustache and all that body hair, eeurgh!" He and Cheryl giggled together.

Brendan concentrated on keeping calm.

Later when Macca walked across the saloon bar towards the toilets, Brendan looked at him over the rim of his glass. His eyes took in the narrowness of the lad's torso, the slight curve of his arse, the way his dark hair almost touched his collar at the nape of his neck. And then on the far wall Brendan noticed a mirror, in which Macca was watching Brendan watching him.

Brendan saw the shock of realisation cross the young man's face.

Downing the last of his whiskey and without waiting to say goodbye to Cheryl, Brendan pushed his way out of the pub, gasping in the cool air outside.


	5. Chapter 5

The next weeks were spent sorting out a way to earn a living. Brendan had had a couple of awkward telephone conversations with Danny Houston, who felt let down by Brendan's sudden departure from Liverpool. But the two men had reached a truce, Brendan persuading Houston that he'd had no choice if he was to save his marriage and be there for his children.

Brendan tried to return the car via one of Houston's men in Belfast, but the guy had been forewarned and refused to take it, saying no doubt Brendan would still be doing business with the boss so he was welcome to keep the vehicle for now. Brendan hated feeling beholden to Houston, but resigned himself. Houston had made it quite clear that in his eyes Brendan still owed him bigtime, so the car wouldn't make much difference and he might as well have the use of it.

Brendan gradually re-established old contacts, and assessed where it was possible to pick up where he'd left off, and where the people who'd moved in during his absence had the kind of muscle that was best left alone. Among those who were quick to do business with him again were Houston's people, and as their boss had a reputation for being a hard man to please, word got around that Brendan was to be trusted. It helped him get back on his feet. Brendan didn't want to be Houston's employee again, but doing business was another matter; Danny always paid well, and on time, for goods and services satisfactorily supplied.

Eileen knew that Brendan was doing some dodgy stuff again, but turned a blind eye once the money started coming in. She liked shopping and tanning and getting her hair and nails done, and saw these things as a kind of compensation for the emptiness she felt in her marriage. Since her husband had returned from England, Eileen had somehow become lonelier than she was before. Brendan treated her well, she couldn't say he didn't; he was affectionate and would always give her a cuddle and a kiss on his way out. And he was brilliant with the kids. But he was always out at night, doing business he said, meeting contacts, and would either come in the worse for drink and fall asleep as soon as he got to bed, or simply sleep on the sofa, telling her in the morning that he'd been very late and hadn't wanted to wake her.

:::::::

One Friday, Eileen let the boys stay over at her sister's, and stopped Brendan before he went out after dinner.

"Don't be late tonight love, please? We've got the place to ourselves, it'd be nice to spend some time together." She ran her hands up his chest and clasped them behind his neck, stretching up to kiss him. Brendan tried to turn it into a hug but she wouldn't let him this time, taking his face in her hands and kissing him again. But she realised his jaw was clenched, and gave up.

"What is it, Brendan? Is there someone else, some girl in Liverpool is it?"

Brendan saw the angry tears in his wife's eyes, and his heart went out to her.

"No darling, there's been no other women, not since I met you, okay?" He pulled her back into his arms and held her tightly until she was tired of resisting. "Okay?"

"Is it me then, Bren?" Eileen had been a virgin when they got together; she'd never been with anyone but him, and her lack of experience still made her feel insecure. "Are you tired of me? I know I get narky when I've had the kids all day..."

"It's not you, it's not... It's nothing, there's nothing wrong."

"It's just that, Brendan, I'm twenty-nine years old, and if I thought that that part of my life was over, I don't know if I could stand it."

"Sweetheart, sweetheart I've got to go, but I love you, yeah? I won't be late, you have my word." He kissed her on the mouth, with no passion at all but with a great deal of tenderness, and went out.

:::::::

When Brendan got home the house was silent. He'd phoned earlier to say he'd be back by ten, but it was nearer to eleven. He had a shower as quietly as he could, and was going to go downstairs to the sofa, but as he walked past the bedroom door, it opened and Eileen took his hand and led him into the room. She wasn't mad at him for being late, or at least she'd decided not to show it.

She stood on tiptoe to kiss him; her feet were bare and she was warm from bed. The lacy nightdress she was wearing might have been new: Brendan wasn't sure.

Eileen was lovely. Everything she was – tiny, soft, smooth, delicate – was the opposite of Brendan, and the idea of him inflicting that animal act on her felt, to him, sordid and inappropriate. She wasn't built to withstand him. And when she made clear to him, as she did now, that she wanted him to do it, it confused him and made him despise her.

He wished he'd had more to drink.

Eileen got into bed. Brendan walked round to his side, threw his towel onto the chair, and got in beside her. For a few minutes they lay facing each other, talking a little. She began to stroke his arm, then drew herself towards him and kissed him. He kissed her back: what choice did he have here, now?

She sat up and pulled her nightdress off over her head, lay back down and, when Brendan didn't take the cue, took his hand, kissed its palm, and placed it on her breast. They kissed again, and Brendan gently moved his hand and let it rest on Eileen's waist. She reached down and took his penis in her hand and tentatively began to work it. Brendan breathed in sharply at her touch and shut his eyes. She wondered what he was thinking about.

This wasn't working.

Brendan wrapped his hand firmly around Eileen's and took control of the speed and rhythm, and when he was ready he climbed on top of her. She ran her fingers up and down his spine and again they kissed; but by the time he had felt for her vagina and positioned himself, his erection had begun to subside. When Eileen realised, she pushed him away and he rolled off her. They lay in silence for a minute or two.

"Is that it, Brendan? I thought I'd married a man."

:::::::

In the morning Brendan took his wife and children to the supermarket. He and Eileen barely spoke.

In the afternoon, he went to see Cheryl at work. He'd been avoiding this pub in the evenings and at weekends, because that was when Macca was likely to be there, and he wanted to steer clear of him. It seemed that the feeling was mutual, because Macca had only seen Eileen at his other auntie's or his nan's, and hadn't been round to the house.

As soon as Cheryl saw Brendan she said, "I'm glad you've come in, love, I need to talk to you." Brendan could see she was worried. "You remember when Mal and Francis came back from England for Mal's wedding?"

Brendan grunted. Where was this going?

"I've been thinking about them a lot lately, Bren, and the bunch of people who were over with them, and it's not like my life here's so great, and I thought, well, why not give it a go?"

"You've lost me, sis."

"I've bought a ticket," she blurted out, "One way. I'm gonna go to England, for a while anyway, see how I get on."

"Chasing Malachy?" Brendan seethed.

"Course not, he's a married man now." She didn't mention the lad she'd slept with, and fallen for a bit, and hoped to track down. "Look Bren, I want to spread my wings, see a bit of the world, and a village near Chester is as good a place as any to start. I'll miss you loads but it's only across the water, and it's not like you're gonna be around here for ever."

Brendan knew she was right, and it was only fair: why should she stay here just because he needed her? He gave her his blessing.

He drank at the bar so they could talk while she was working, until sometime after six, when Macca came in after his day's work.

"Hello Bren, how you been?" Macca looked uncomfortable. As did Brendan.

"You boys fallen out?" Cheryl asked. Brendan scowled into his drink.

"Course not."

"Aw lighten up, Bren-bren," said Macca, "It's Saturday night."

Brendan looked at him in astonishment: he saw himself as the last man on Earth who'd be given pet names, and he didn't do lightening up.

"See ya, sis." He kissed Cheryl. "See you before you go."

He went and found another pub.

:::::::

Next day, Brendan was alone in the house, having declined the chance to go with Eileen and the boys for Sunday lunch at her mother's. Eileen hadn't tried to persuade him.

He was thinking of going out somewhere, when the doorbell rang. It was Macca.

"Eileen's not here." Brendan moved to shut the door.

"I know that, Bren, I saw her and the kids go out. It's you I came for." He handed him a bottle of Jameson's.

Curious, but with his face a mask, Brendan stepped aside to let Macca in.

"Cheryl told me last night what she's doing, going off to England," Macca said as he followed Brendan through to the kitchen. "I just wanted to see you're okay."

"Did you now? And why wouldn't I be?" Brendan poured whiskey into two glasses.

"I know how close you two are. Thought you might need a friend."

Brendan swallowed his drink and poured another.

"And that'd be you would it, that friend?"

"If you want me to be." Macca topped up his own drink with water from the tap, and sipped it. They both sat down at the kitchen table. Brendan saw that the lad's hands were trembling slightly. This was good. Unexpected, but good. His mind raced with the possibilities. Macca would keep his mouth shut, surely. If Eileen found out anything, Macca would be out of the family for good; plus, there was this boyfriend of his that he was scared would leave him. Macca had just as much to lose as Brendan.

Brendan poured himself a third drink, and Macca a second. Their hands touched as he handed him the glass.

"Good lad."

Macca threw back his drink for courage, and held out his glass for a refill. Brendan smiled, and poured.

"Don't worry, uncle Bren, I'm not trying to seduce you."

Uncle Bren? Impertinent little fucker.

"Is that right?" Brendan said evenly.

"Yeah you see, it'd never work with you and me. We're both tops."

"Explain." Brendan had never heard the term. He didn't move in those circles.

"Some of us giveth, some of us receiveth." Macca was looking directly into Brendan's eyes. "I'm a giver, and I'm guessing you are too."

Both men gulped down their drinks, then Brendan stood and put his jacket on. Macca took this as his cue to leave, and got up, wondering if he'd gone too far. Brendan came towards him, and Macca involuntarily stepped backwards until he was against the wall.

"So you're a 'top' are you?" Brendan's voice came from deep in his throat.

"Aye that's right."

"And no-one's ever...?"

"No."

Brendan saw defiance in Macca's eyes, and liked it. He leaned down so that Macca felt the heat of his breath on his ear, and the hairs of his moustache, and the stubble on his cheek.

"So, are you saying no to me?"

There was a pause, then Macca shifted and whispered, "Long as you're gentle with me."

In an instant Brendan had one hand in Macca's hair, yanking his head back painfully, and the other hand under his arse almost lifting him off the floor. His kiss was hard and rough, and Macca was startled by its desperation.

Brendan let go, breathing heavily, and took a step back. Then he took a ten pound note from his trouser pocket and tucked it in the front of Macca's T-shirt, patted his chest, and said, "Get some rubbers."

Then he picked up his phone and keys and headed for the front door. Macca recovered himself enough to follow him into the hallway, and called out, "What size?"

Brendan called over his shoulder, "Guess," and was gone.


	6. Chapter 6

In the two weeks after Macca had called round to see Brendan, neither man made contact with the other.

Something about this lad unsettled Brendan: his ease with his own sexuality; the knowingness in his impudent dark eyes. Plus, he was Eileen's nephew. Brendan found himself thrilled by the recklessness of the prospect of doing this with him, but his instinct for self-protection told him that it would be far too close to home.

For his part, Macca sensed that Brendan was a man who liked to set the rules, and Macca had yet to figure out what those rules might be. He was all for taking risks and testing boundaries, but he'd had a small taste of Brendan's volatile nature and it had shaken him. Besides, his relationship with his boyfriend, Matt, was going well and he wasn't sure he wanted to jeopardise it.

Since Cheryl had left for England a week ago, Brendan had been at a loss. Although he kept much of himself hidden from her, he felt more at ease with her than with anyone else. Most of his friends, he'd fallen out with over the years – some irrevocably – and with Cheryl gone he felt very much alone.

When Brendan next saw Macca it was at Eileen's sister's. Annie had a child's-size desk and chair her own kids had grown out of, and had offered it to Eileen for Padraig. When Brendan took his family round there in the car, Macca was there. The two men were wary, although to Brendan's surprise he felt his pulse quicken in a way he hadn't felt since Liverpool.

Eileen and the boys were staying for the afternoon, and Brendan was to take the furniture home in the car.

"Can you manage, Brendan?" Annie asked. "Macca, why don't you give him a hand?"

Brendan could easily do this on his own, but he didn't say so. He unscrewed the legs of the desk and carried it out to the car. Macca brought the chair. It all fitted easily on the back seat.

"Coming?"

Macca got in the passenger side without hesitating.

The drive home took just a couple of minutes, during which they talked only about Cheryl's departure. When they got there, Brendan unloaded the car, handing the chair to Macca along with the house keys. Macca went ahead and opened the door, and Brendan went in past him and led the way upstairs with the dismantled desk. It only took a minute to re-assemble it, then the two of them made space for it in the boys' bedroom.

"Good. Tea?"

"Yeah." Macca wondered how this was going to turn out.

Downstairs, Brendan made two mugs of tea which they drank in the kitchen, almost in silence. Brendan studied Macca's strong, sinewy arms, which he found surprisingly muscular for this lad's small frame. He guessed there must be some heavy work involved in Macca's job at Finnegan's, the butcher.

"Brendan," Macca began, intending to apologise for the misunderstanding there'd been between them: he thought it was the only way they'd get past what had happened two weeks ago, as they were clearly both regretting it. But when he looked up from his cup, he saw Brendan's grey-blue eyes scrutinising him.

"Macca." Brendan always said the name as if it was in inverted commas. "Did you get those condoms?"

"You told me to."

"You always do what you're told, do you?"

Macca's gaze didn't falter: "Only when I want to."

"Is that right?" Brendan's eyes crinkled into a smile, and he looked intently at Macca's mouth. "I'll bear that in mind."

Macca felt suddenly vulnerable.

"I haven't got them with me. The condoms. I didn't bring them."

Brendan watched him blush.

"Why would you? Unless you had expectations."

"I didn't."

"No. I got that." Brendan stood up. "Upstairs."

He took the stairs three at a time; he didn't check whether Macca was following him, because he knew he would be. When Macca arrived in the bedroom, Brendan was already unbuttoning his jeans.

"Get down." Brendan saw that Macca was uncertain, and said patiently as if talking to a child, "It's all we can do, since you didn't come prepared."

Decision made, Macca knelt, and Brendan freed his cock. Macca took it in his mouth, slowly and teasingly until Brendan, impatient, grabbed the lad's head and pushed himself further into the boy's open throat. Macca gagged and hit Brendan's hands away with force. Brendan was so surprised that he said, "Sorry." This was a first. Macca looked up at him seriously, then got back to work in his own time.

When Brendan was almost there, Macca braced himself, holding firmly on to Brendan's hips so that he wouldn't jerk out of his mouth and spatter. After Brendan came, Macca sat back, looked up at Brendan and swallowed for him.

Brendan fastened his jeans then lifted Macca to his feet. He'd thought this would be like one of those encounters he had from time to time on business trips to Dublin or Manchester, where he'd pick up some guy outside a gay bar (never inside – nothing would get him to go into one of those places) for a one-off. But this wasn't turning out like that.

He pulled Macca towards him and kissed him. At first he could taste himself on Macca's lips and in his mouth, but after a while both men got the taste of each other, and both were disconcerted by the urgency they felt. When finally they let go and stood back, neither looked the other in the eyes.

The silence was interrupted by the sound of Brendan's mobile ringing downstairs.

"I'd better get that."

"Sure. I'll get going then."

"Good lad." Brendan smoothed his moustache, then touched Macca's face lightly with his fingertips, before running down the stairs.

The phone had stopped ringing by the time Brendan reached it. He looked at the screen: _1 missed call: Danny Houston._ He decided not to call back now; Houston would try again if it was important. But it sounded again straight away: _Danny Houston calling. _Brendan sighed.

"Danny. What can I do for you?"

There was a pause at the other end, then a voice.

"Brendan? It's me."

The room went out of focus. Brendan was aware of his own body reacting: his heart raced; he prickled with sweat.

"Vincent. What... Why have you got Danny's phone?"

"He's left it in the office. I knew you'd answer if you thought it was him."

"What do you want, Vincent?"

"I... I just wanted to hear your voice, Bren. I don't know why you left like that, without telling me. I just need to know, Brendan, it's eating me up. You never said goodbye."

"I texted you." This was inadequate; Brendan tried again. "It wasn't you, it was Eileen and the kids, they needed me home."

"_I_ need you too, Brendan." There was a long pause. "Can I come to Belfast? I'll get a job, somewhere to live. I won't bother you, I promise I won't, but I'll be there when you want me."

"For fuck's sake!" There was panic in Brendan's voice. "You stupid little bastard, it's not gonna happen. Don't come here, you got that? I don't want you, Vincent, not any more."

"I think Danny's coming back," said Vinnie, his voice thick with grief. "I've got to go."

Quickly, Brendan told him, "Watch out for Danny, you don't want to cross him, d'you hear? There's no-one there to protect you."

"It's okay Bren, he seems to like me."

"Even so..."

"It's him, Bren, I'm going. I love you. I really love you."

The line went dead. Brendan shut his eyes to stop his tears falling.

When he looked up, Macca was in the doorway, looking concerned.

"Are you still here, Macca?" There was contempt in Brendan's tone.

"Who's Vincent?"

Brendan glared, willing him to shut the fuck up.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Macca asked.

"Enough."

"You're upset, Brendan..."

"Get out!" Brendan hurled his mobile at Macca, but his aim was off and it flew past him, hit the wall and splintered.

"Jesus, Brendan, you need to sort yourself out." Macca couldn't believe this was the same man who had left him in the bedroom just minutes ago.

Brendan advanced on Macca, grabbed his arm and dragged him down the hallway. He threw him out of the front door, and slammed it behind him.

Alone again, he looked down at the shattered phone, and slowly picked up the pieces.


	7. Chapter 7

The unexpected phone call from Vinnie had thrown Brendan off balance. He went over and over it in his mind, trying to work out the subtext. It wasn't unusual for Danny Houston to be at the club – he owned it after all – but what was that bit about him seeming to like Vincent? Brendan had an ill-defined sense that this was in some way ominous, but he could think of no use, rationally, that Houston would have for the boy, so he did his best to dismiss it. He made a conscious effort to hold on in his mind to Vinnie's words, the sound of his voice, but the things that kept rising to the surface were those which he didn't want to remember: the words "I love you, I really love you;" the sound of Vinnie crying.

Vinnie even came into his dreams. Brendan rarely remembered his dreams, but the ones he was having now haunted him when he woke up, and he couldn't shake them off. They followed a pattern, though the locations varied. Danny Houston would be there, either walking from the room or away in the distance, watching. Brendan would be having sex with Vinnie or kissing him, and then something would happen and the lad would be on the floor, looking up at him, terrified. There would be bruises, or blood. The third or fourth time he had the dream it wasn't Vinnie looking up at him, but Macca.

Brendan found out by trial and error that the more he drank, the less he dreamed; so by about the tenth night, the dreams stopped.

There was no contact between him and Macca. Brendan assumed that his anger had put the lad off, and it made him gloomy and irritable. Every time he left the house he imagined that Eileen must be sighing with relief.

Then on a Monday morning just over two weeks after he'd scared Macca away, Brendan's phone rang as Eileen left to walk the boys to school. _Macca calling._ Brendan answered cautiously.

"Hello."

"Fuck, that must be one hell of a mobile if you got it working again after that."

"I managed to salvage the SIM card," Brendan said dryly. "What do you want, Macca?"

"An apology would be a start, eh Brendan?"

Brendan considered his words before speaking. "You were in the wrong place at the wrong time. It wasn't personal, son."

Macca decided he would settle for that, and moved on. "Eileen's asked me round to yours for my tea tonight. Is that okay with you Bren?"

This was news to Brendan. "Yeah, yeah. Why wouldn't it be?"

"Will you be there?"

"Yeah." There was no response. "Was there something else?"

He heard Macca clear his throat.

"I've got the day off work today, Brendan. I was wondering... Do you want to come over?"

Brendan felt a flood of heat to his groin. He swallowed.

"What time?"

"Soon as you like."

"Okay."

"Okay."

Brendan left the car at home. He had some business to do later which would probably entail drinking, and he never drank and drove, not since a crash when he was a kid. And he could use the walk to Macca's to sort his head out: today was turning out unexpectedly.

Macca lived in one of a number of one-bedroom flats above a row of shops. Brendan hadn't been there before and had had to look it up in Eileen's address book. He'd been too flustered to ask Macca on the phone.

Brendan Brady, flustered. Fuck.

There was no intercom, so when Brendan rang the bell he had to wait for Macca to come and open the door. He heard him run down the stairs.

"Come in Bren. Good to see you." He must have just got out of the shower; his hair was wet and his T-shirt clung to him where he'd dressed without getting dry. Brendan followed him up the stairs and along the corridor to his flat.

Macca had made the most of what little space there was in the cramped flat by keeping furniture and clutter to a minimum. He had moved there from his parents' house as soon as he was eighteen; his mum and dad had done their best to accept that their son was gay, but drew the line at letting him bring boys home. The rent was cheap enough, even on his wages, and it suited him fine.

The two men stood slightly awkwardly in the front room.

"Drink?" offered Macca. It was just gone half ten.

"Go on then." Brendan wondered if the new bottle of Jameson's, from which Macca poured two large measures, had been bought with him in mind. He took the glass. Macca went to the kitchen to put a splash of water in his own. He usually drank lager.

Brendan knocked back his whiskey in one, and helped himself to another. Macca had barely sipped his, but Brendan topped him up anyway, and laughed as the lad winced at the strength of the almost undiluted spirit when he took a mouthful.

"That's a man's drink, me boy. You'll get used to it." He watched, amused, as Macca made a point of downing the rest of his drink in one; then he stepped towards him, took the empty glass from Macca's hand, and put both glasses down on the side table. He stood over him, stroking his still-damp hair with his fingertips and breathing in his clean scent. His gaze slid from Macca's mouth to his eyes and back again.

"Now then, Macca. What did you have in mind?"

Briefly Macca hesitated, then he stretched up and put his arms round Brendan's neck. Brendan in turn wrapped his arms around the lad as they kissed, lifting him off the floor. When they came up for air he put him down and asked, "Where we going?"

Macca led him to the bedroom. There was a wardrobe, a chest of drawers and a bedside cabinet; a double bed took up the rest of the room.

Macca went to the chest and reached to the back of one of the drawers for a pack of condoms, which he handed to Brendan. Brendan looked at the cabinet at the side of the bed, on the top of which, alongside some lube, were five or six condoms. Macca saw him looking.

"They're mine. I don't think they're your size to be honest, Bren." He paused. "And Matt might notice if any went missing."

A cloud crossed Brendan's face at the mention of Macca's boyfriend, but he reminded himself that this was one of the factors that would make Macca keep quiet, having something to lose himself.

Brendan took off his jacket and hung it on the door, then pulled Macca towards him with a finger in the neck of his T-shirt, and kissed him deeply. He dragged the T-shirt off over Macca's head, then stood back and said, "Get undressed." Macca did what he was told but his usual defiant look was more equivocal, and his hands fumbled, and his pale Irish skin looked even whiter. Brendan hadn't known whether to believe Macca's claim that he'd always been a 'top' and no-one had been inside him; but looking at him now, the apprehensiveness in his eyes, he thought it might be true.

He didn't want to make the same mistake with Macca as he'd made with Vinnie. The two boys were quite different: Brendan's first time with Vinnie had been Vinnie's first time with anyone, whereas Macca had been around the block. But this was new to Macca, what Brendan was wanting to do to him.

Brendan remembered taking his time, at first, to make Vinnie ready, but then becoming impatient and taking him too quickly and too hard. Vinnie had said afterwards that he was okay, but it took Brendan almost a month to persuade him back into his bed. The lad had got the hang of it after that, but still, Brendan felt ashamed at the memory.

He undressed apart from his jeans, which he kept on so that Macca would know he couldn't do anything without warning. He lay down facing him, and for a while they kissed; then Brendan told Macca to lie face down. Again, Macca did as he was told. Brendan began to kiss and lick at Macca's neck and shoulders, working his way down his body with a tenderness bewildering in so powerful a man. With his thumbs he parted Macca's buttocks, and slid his tongue between them, circling at first then penetrating him. He heard Macca's breathing becoming loud and erratic as he worked with his tongue, and had to hold him still as he squirmed and bucked and gripped the pillow, until Macca came with a cry. Brendan crawled up to lie full length on the lad's back, the weight of him making Macca gasp for breath. He bit lightly at the nape of Macca's neck.

Brendan got up.

"Turn over now."

Macca rolled onto his back, shifting a little to avoid the wet patch on the mattress. His face was flushed. Brendan pumped some lube onto his fingers and lay back down, propping himself up on one elbow. He slid his hand between Macca's legs, watching his face as he did it, and slid a finger inside him. After a little more caressing and cajoling and encouragement, he eased in a second finger and then a third. Brendan was sure now, from the tightness and resistance, that he really would be Macca's first. He kissed him as he worked, then breathed into his ear, "Is this okay?" Macca nodded. Brendan clambered over him then, and stood where Macca could watch him as he stripped off his jeans and boxers, and rolled a condom on.

"It fits!" said Brendan with a magician's gesture, making Macca laugh. "Clever boy."

Brendan told Macca to lift up his bum so he could slide a pillow under his hips, and he adjusted the angle until he was happy with it. Then he smoothed some lube onto his cock, knelt on the bed between Macca's legs, and began exploring him again with heavily lubricated fingers. He leaned forward and kissed the centre of Macca's chest and all the way up to his mouth, as Macca grasped at Brendan's hair.

"Are you ready?"

Macca nodded, "Yeah."

"Good lad." Brendan sat back and hooked his arms under Macca's legs. Macca slid them up to rest on Brendan's shoulders. Brendan eased the tip of his cock inside, and pushed further in each time Macca's muscle spasm subsided. His mind flashed back to Vinnie, and he wished he had been this patient with him.

When he was in as far as he could go, Brendan began slowly to thrust. Macca felt as if the inside of his pelvis had been reconfigured. His hole burned from being made to stay open, but the pain was nothing compared with the overwhelming rush he felt from having Brendan fully inside him. Macca's eyes were tightly shut, but when Brendan knew that they were both about to come, he said, "Look at me," and they were looking into each other's eyes as they came.

Brendan shrugged Macca's legs from his shoulders and collapsed on top of him, their hearts pounding against each other. Macca stroked Brendan's back and they lay for a few minutes, Brendan's cock still inside him. Then Brendan carefully pulled out, and went to the bathroom to get rid of the condom and clean himself up.

Macca was still sprawled on his back when Brendan returned with a towel, which he used to dry the sweat from his lover's chest and the cum from his belly, and to wipe around his cock and between his legs.

"This'll need a wash," he said, dropping the towel on the floor, and they smiled stupidly at each other as Brendan got back into bed and pulled the cover over them both.

"Was that alright?" Brendan's question was genuine.

"Amazing. Fucking amazing, Bren."

"Good."

Macca nestled under Brendan's arm, and Brendan let him, just for today.


	8. Chapter 8

Brendan woke with pins and needles in his arm, from the weight of Macca lying on it. Sunlight flooded the room. He looked at the clock on the bedside cabinet: one o'clock. They must have slept for an hour or so. Macca was sleeping like an exhausted child, mouth open, his body heavier than it looked as Brendan eased his arm out from under him.

He picked his clothes up from the floor, went to the bathroom, and got dressed. He was ravenous, and thought about seeing if he could find something to eat in the kitchen, but decided against: it was better to get out. Returning to the bedroom, he got his jacket from the back of the door. He looked at Macca. Turned to go. Turned back, leaned over the bed and ran his fingers lightly through Macca's mussed-up hair, pulled the cover over his bare shoulder, then silently left.

The day's meetings had to be fitted into half a day, Brendan having been diverted for the morning at Macca's instigation. It was fairly routine stuff though: checking that certain deliveries had been made, collecting payments, negotiating. First he went for a burger, which he fell on like a starving man.

It was nearly seven when Brendan got home. The boys were playing in the front room, and Brendan went straight to them and sat on the floor to hear about their day. Then he went to the kitchen, where Eileen was standing at the cooker and Macca was sitting at the table. Brendan leaned languidly against the doorframe. Macca had told him that he'd been invited over by Eileen, but Brendan had doubted whether he would still turn up, having spent the morning in bed with the hostess's husband.

"Macca. How's tricks?"

"Good thanks, Brendan. Really good."

Eileen said over her shoulder, "The kids have had their tea, Bren, but Macca and I waited for you. Thought you'd be earlier."

"I woulda been, but things took longer than I expected." He shot a glance at Macca, who blushed.

"This'll be ruined," Eileen said, indicating the oven.

"What is it?" asked Brendan. "Smells good."

"Casserole."

"You can't ruin a casserole, sweetheart. I'm just gonna have a shower." He left the room before his wife could have another dig at him.

When he came back downstairs, Eileen was standing at the table serving up the meal. Now that he'd showered away any lingering smell of sex, Brendan stood behind her and put his arms around her, pulling her close.

"Sorry I was late," he murmured, and kissed behind her ear and down her neck. As he did so he looked across the table at Macca, who looked back at him steadily. Eileen reached across to give Macca his plate, and Brendan let her go and sat down.

Brendan wolfed down his plateful before the other two were half way through theirs, and helped himself to more.

"You've got an appetite, Brendan," Macca said.

"He always has," said Eileen. "I don't know where he puts it."

Again the two men caught each other's eyes.

While they finished eating, Eileen called the children in and sent them up to get ready for bed; she gave them a few minutes, then went up to see them.

Now the two men were alone. Macca's eyes had the direct, challenging look that made Brendan feel both aroused and uneasy; he felt oddly as if the initiative was shifting away from him. _He should end it now._

Macca got up and walked around the table towards him.

Brendan stood and faced him. He could tell Macca_, That's it, it was a one-off_.

Macca put a hand on Brendan's chest and touched with his fingertips the hair at the neck of his shirt.

This really was too close to home. Brendan shouldn't have let it happen. _Tell him._

Macca looked up at Brendan; there was a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes, then the even gaze again.

"I can still feel you inside me." Macca smiled a half-smile, tilted his chin up for a kiss; and got one.

When they heard Eileen coming down the stairs, they sprang apart.

"Like a cup of tea, Macca?" Eileen offered.

"Not for me, Eileen, I've got to get going. Said I'd meet Matt in a bit."

Brendan stared at him. _Brazen little fucker_.

"On your way then. Mustn't keep your boyfriend waiting." Brendan's voice was laden with disgust.

"Brendan!" Eileen scolded. "No need to be like that."

"It's okay, I've had worse," Macca said, giving her a kiss on the cheek. "Thanks for tonight. I'll see ya. See you around, Bren."

"Yeah. Yeah. _Enjoy_."

:::::::

A few times over the next few days Brendan almost phoned Macca, but thought better of it. He had to get this right. Macca's hand would be strengthened either if Brendan called him too eagerly, or if he left it until Macca called him and then went running straight over like last time.

As it turned out, it was Eileen who set things moving again.

"I saw Macca today," she told Brendan one evening later that week. "He seemed a bit put out by what you were like about his boyfriend."

Brendan grimaced. "Why? What did he say?"

"Nothing much, but I could tell it was on his mind. I wish you'd make a bit more of an effort with him, Bren, he's a nice lad. You know he looks up to you."

"What would you have me do? Buy the little queer a bunch of flowers?"

Eileen sighed. "There's no point talking to you sometimes, d'you know that?"

"Sorry sweetheart." Brendan paused. "Do you want me to go and see him?"

Eileen smiled, surprised that her husband would do this thing for her.

:::::::

Next morning, Brendan phoned Macca. He was at work: Brendan could hear customers' voices in the background.

"Eileen reckons I owe you an apology."

"I reckon she's right."

"Will you be in tonight?"

"After work, yeah."

"See you then." Then Brendan called Eileen to tell her he was seeing Macca, like she wanted, and would be late home.

Later, in Macca's flat, the two men stood facing each other.

"What were you doing, whining about me to Eileen?"

"I am allowed to talk to her, Bren, she is my auntie. Anyhow, that's not how it was."

"Enlighten me."

"She mentioned you, and I suppose I must have looked a bit..."

Brendan stepped towards him.

"A bit what?" He examined Macca's face minutely.

"Aren't you meant to be apologising to me?" Macca squared his shoulders.

Brendan couldn't work out if Macca was confronting him or flirting with him, and grew exasperated.

"That's not what I came here for, you stupid twit."

"_Twit?_" Macca repeated.

"Yeah," Brendan said, slightly embarrassed, "Me kids say it... You got a problem with that?"

"No, no. It's just a bit... mild for you, Brendan."

"_Maild_ is it?" Brendan asked, mocking Macca's Belfast accent.

"Sorry, _moild,_"countered Macca, imitating Brendan's Dublin vowels.

There was amusement in both men's eyes now; and desire. Brendan slipped his hands inside the bottom of Macca's T-shirt and slowly stroked up his sides.

"Macca, are we gonna stand here and debate my choice of insult? Or are we gonna fuck?"

"We're gonna fuck."


	9. Chapter 9

Brendan loved his sons more than anything; he would die for them without hesitation.

Sometimes when he looked at them, he wondered how his own mother had ever thought that it was the right thing to do to bring him, as a child, from Dublin to a city where there were soldiers on the streets. He couldn't contemplate removing his boys from a place of safety to something like a war zone. Brendan rarely thought about his mother, but if he found himself doing so, he quickly repressed the memory.

By the time he was in his late teens, the peace process was well underway and the atmosphere in Belfast was changing for the better, but there was still a low-level hum of anxiety, a sense that you had to be alert. Segregation was unofficial, but real: there were pubs you couldn't go to, streets where it was unwise to linger.

The kind of minor crime that Brendan got involved in, wasn't the kind that got you shot. Brendan stayed below the radar, careful to avoid the sectarian alliances that were rife in the city's underworld. Coming from south of the border, he had no historical connection with the north – his stepmother and her family may as well have been strangers – so he observed the dying days of the Troubles with a kind of detachment, and from a basis of self-preservation.

Eileen had pursued him partly because he wasn't embroiled in the tribalism that ruled the lives of many young men; and partly because he was tall and handsome and, although only a few years older than her, he was a man not a boy. Brendan was flattered by her attention. He appreciated how pretty she was, and she was petite and a little shy, which made him feel protective of her. He decided to believe that these feelings of his equated to sexual attraction and, as he had never had a girl, and Eileen had never had a boy, they experimented together. She became pregnant right away; Brendan married her, thinking this would make his life normal.

From the start he felt trapped, not because marriage and fatherhood were coming to him so young – this was not so unusual among his contemporaries – but because any desire he'd felt for Eileen had already faded. He loved her: he was almost sure of that. But his sexual appetite lay elsewhere.

When their first baby, Niamh, died, Brendan felt it was a judgement upon him.

Eileen told him she would let him go if he wanted, as the reason for their marriage was no longer there. But in his grief, Brendan promised that she was what he wanted still. He tried to be a good husband, and pretty soon Declan came along and sealed the deal. By then though, Brendan was picking up men whenever he could get away to another city. By the time Padraig was conceived, Brendan and Eileen were rarely having sex; he reassured her that this happened to all couples with young children.

Whether he was smuggling duty-free cigarettes and alcohol in from the Republic, or bringing in drugs from the continent, or doing business in England, Brendan's trips away became more frequent as time went by. His casual sexual encounters filled him with self-loathing, and whenever he returned home he felt disgusted with Eileen for still wanting him to fuck her.

Things changed when he moved to Liverpool; he quit the random men whose names he didn't ask. He chose Vinnie carefully, finding out about him before making a move. Having established that the lad was malleable, wide-eyed and somewhat insecure, Brendan seduced him efficiently, making Vincent want him and want to please him in equal measure.

Brendan didn't hate himself as much with Vinnie as he had with the one-night stands, or rather, he projected his loathing onto Vinnie. Somehow Brendan blamed him for their being together, and for how much he needed Vinnie, and started to ill-treat him. And when Vinnie still came back to him, and things started to get emotional, Brendan began beating him.

Now, back in Belfast with Vinnie out of his life, Brendan's involvement with Macca, too, was becoming something he hadn't intended. When he'd moved back home he hadn't thought what he was going to do about sex, so he'd just gone on instinct when Macca had become a possibility. Secrecy was imperative, and Brendan had thought that two things would ensure Macca's compliance: first, that Macca knew he would lose his family if he blabbed about sleeping with his aunt's husband; and second, that he had a boyfriend whom he was scared of losing.

:::::::

Brendan had been sleeping with Macca for a few weeks, when he found he could no longer ignore one fact: he didn't want him to see Matt any more. He called Macca on the phone.

"I want you to get rid of Matthew."

"Matt? Why? I thought you wanted him to be with me. Like a cover story, you said." There was a pause. "Why, Bren?"

_Because when I wake up in the night I wonder if he's in your bed._

"He gets in the way."

"That's not true," said Macca cautiously. "I've never turned you down. What's the real reason?"

_Because the thought of you kissing him like you kiss me, twists my guts._

"I can't risk bringing home some disease, can I?" Brendan said brutally.

"That's out of order, Brendan. I'm not stupid, I've always been as careful as you."

Brendan took a breath and closed his eyes. "I'm not arguing about this, Macca. Him or me. Your decision."

He ended the call.

:::::::

A couple of days later, after Macca got home from work, Brendan went to see him.

"Have you done it?" Brendan's mouth was dry. He regretted his ultimatum.

"Done what?"

"Don't play the idiot, Macca. Have you dumped him?"

"Brendan, I did it weeks ago."

Brendan was wrong-footed. "Meaning?"

"That first day you came here, we fucked all morning, yeah? Then I came to your house for my tea, then I went off to see Matt, remember? That's when I told him."

"Told him what, exactly?"

Macca was frightened by Brendan's rising anger, but stood his ground. "Just that I couldn't be with him... Because I didn't wanna be with someone I didn't love."

Before Macca had finished his sentence, Brendan had slammed him against the wall and was gripping his jaw savagely.

"I won't be made a fool of, d'you hear me? Do you hear me?"

Macca felt Brendan's spit hitting his face. He nodded, and Brendan's hold on his face loosened.

"Nobody's making a fool of you, Brendan." Macca's voice was shaky. "I don't get what I've done wrong."

"You don't keep secrets from me. Ever."

Macca nodded again. Brendan was trying to control his rage. He put a hand on the back of Macca's head and bent to kiss him. Macca wasn't ready to forgive him for his behaviour and tried to pull away, but Brendan held him still and bit him, viciously, on his lower lip.

Macca shoved Brendan back and put a hand to his mouth to see if it was bleeding. It was.

"Jesus, Brendan, you're a fucking nutter."

Brendan stepped towards him again, trapping Macca by leaning with his hands on the wall either side of him. He went to Macca's mouth with his own. Macca kept turning away, but eventually gave in and stayed still for Brendan to do whatever it was he wanted to do. Brendan took Macca's face in his hands, gently this time, though Macca flinched. Again he took the lad's lip with his mouth, but this time he licked and sucked the blood away.

"Better?"

Macca nodded uncertainly.

Brendan turned and walked towards the bedroom, turning back to look at Macca, who had stayed put.

"I'm done fighting with you, son. Come on."

Macca followed him into the bedroom, but stood by the door, looking as if he might flee at any moment.

"Are you just gonna stand there? Come on, we're sorted aren't we?" Brendan held a hand out, and Macca gingerly came and took it. Brendan held his hand briefly then circled him with his arms and held him close, inhaling the smell of fresh sweat on him.

"Get undressed now, yeah?"

Macca did so, and got into bed. Brendan stripped quickly and climbed on top of him. He concentrated on Macca's chest and shoulders and neck, kissing and nibbling, now and again biting hard then licking where he'd bitten. When he felt Macca's cock stiffening against his own, Brendan sat up and put on a condom. Using a squeeze of lube, he quickly prepared Macca and entered him. He wasn't violent, as Macca had feared he would be, but he was rougher with him than he had ever been before.

As Brendan thrusted, Macca's fingers raked his back. The chain round Brendan's neck hung down, and Macca caught its cross in his mouth and felt the metal cold against his burning lip.

Brendan shifted his weight onto one arm, and with the other hand reached down and gave Macca's cock a few hard strokes; they came together. Macca's cries sounded more like pain than pleasure. Brendan's were guttural and atavistic.

They lay together for a while. Macca played with the hair on Brendan's chest.

"Brendan... You don't need to hurt me to keep me in line."

Brendan stroked Macca's swollen, bloodied lip gently with his thumb, and said nothing.


	10. Chapter 10

Brendan's meetings with Macca began to develop a routine. Brendan would go to Macca's flat, either in the early evening once Macca had got home from work and showered, or later, when Brendan was done with whatever he'd had to do at the clubs and bars. This happened perhaps once or twice a week. Occasionally, if Brendan was able to swerve Sunday lunch with Eileen's parents or one or other of her sisters' families, he would see Macca for a couple of hours.

One week in two, Macca had to work on a Saturday, which meant that he had a weekday off instead. Brendan began to look forward to these days, and organise his schedule around them. He could spend several hours at the flat because he didn't have to hurry home to Eileen, for dinner or bed. The pressure was off: they didn't need to get straight down to sex, although sometimes they couldn't keep their hands off each other from the moment Brendan arrived. Afterwards, they could fall asleep together. They even talked, a little, but between Brendan's caginess and Macca's wariness of him, much was left unsaid. Brendan talked about his children, and how it had felt when he'd been away from them in Liverpool for weeks at a time between visits. He spoke too about what he did to make a living, the stress of keeping the right people happy, the precarious nature of this lifestyle. Macca laughed when Brendan told him that he was known to the Revenue as a management consultant.

Brendan felt more relaxed in those hours at Macca's than in any other part of his life. Macca gained a more nuanced understanding of him: Brendan wasn't just this emotionally distant hard man, who was wonderful in bed but liable to flip. He was something even more complex than that. Macca's feelings deepened.

There was little in the way of violence, but enough to keep Macca alert to its possibility. Once, he'd moved to embrace Brendan when he opened the front door to him, and Brendan had pushed him inside and held him by the throat. Another time, at Brendan's house, the two men were standing by the back door watching Eileen and the kids in the garden. Macca had put a hand on the small of Brendan's back, and Brendan had gripped his hand and crushed it so hard that Macca thought his bones were breaking. That was a rule learnt: no physical contact in any kind of public place.

:::::::

This day didn't start well. It was a Wednesday, and Macca's day off. Brendan had said he'd be there at eleven but he was a few minutes early, and stood in the kind of Irish rain that seemed to fall not in drops but like water through a sieve. The doorway to the flats offered almost no shelter. Brendan leaned on the buzzer for Flat A with his right hand, and with his left he pressed speed-dial number three. The number rang for a while then went to voicemail; Brendan swore, hung up, and redialled. This time he left a message: "Where the fuck are you, Macca?"

As he ended the call he spotted Macca running up the road towards him, his hood up. Brendan glared at him as he unlocked the street door and stood back to let Brendan go in first.

"You're early," Macca said as they walked up the stairs. "It's not eleven yet. I ran out of milk and you're gonna want a cup of tea aren't you?"

Brendan scowled, dripping.

Inside the flat, Macca dumped the milk in the kitchen then got a towel for Brendan.

"You'd better get those wet clothes off." Macca turned up the heating. Brendan took off his suit jacket, and Macca hung it on the back of a wooden chair, which he stood in front of the radiator. Brendan sat to remove his shoes and socks, which Macca picked up as Brendan unbuttoned his shirt. The socks went on top of the heater, the shoes on the floor beneath it. The shirt was only damp, so Macca got a hanger from the bedroom and hung it behind the door. Brendan's trousers were sodden; Macca smoothed them out and draped them over the radiator.

Standing in just his boxers, with Macca still fully dressed, Brendan felt weirdly vulnerable. Macca looked at his broad-shouldered, emphatically male body, and vulnerability was the last thing he could see; but he knew it was there.

"There's a bathrobe if you want it, Bren." He gestured towards the bathroom. Brendan went to find it, drying his hair roughly with the towel. The robe was dark blue, and felt luxurious and expensive. Brendan had noticed it before, but couldn't imagine Macca wearing it, not least because it would have been down to the ground on him.

Macca was still in his wet clothes when Brendan returned.

"Kettle's on," he told Brendan. "You might as well have these, then you won't be stuck on the doorstep again." He handed Brendan his spare keys, one to the street door and one to the flat, with a piece of knotted string as a keyring.

"Good." Brendan nodded and put the keys down. He indicated the blue bathrobe. "This is a bit posh for you, isn't it?"

"It was Matt's, he left it behind. But he told me he'd robbed it from a hotel, so I reckon I've got about as much right to it as he did." Macca saw a muscle twitch in Brendan's cheek, and added quietly, "There's nothing here that belongs to him any more, Brendan."

Brendan looked away, and sat down on the sofa. Macca disappeared into the bedroom to take off his cold, wet clothes, and came back wearing a dressing gown. It was old, with horizontal stripes, and too big for him; the sleeves almost covered his hands. Brendan was reminded of one time when Vinnie had borrowed a T-shirt of Brendan's, and had looked like a boy playing dressing-up in grown-up clothes. If Vinnie and Macca were stood side by side, Brendan thought, no-one would notice Macca. And yet as he stood there now in front of him, Brendan felt a surge of emotion, which he suppressed even before he could identify it.

"That dressing gown's an abomination, by the way."

"I don't care," Macca said defensively, "It's comfortable." He went into the kitchen, so didn't see Brendan's involuntary smile.

He came back into the room with two mugs of tea with a box of jaffa cakes balanced on top of them. Brendan grabbed the packet as Macca put the teas down, ripping it open and putting one in his mouth, whole. Macca sat next to him on the sofa. Brendan took a slurp of tea and another jaffa cake.

Macca laughed. "You can't say I'm not good to you, Brendan Brady."

Brendan's mouth curved into a lopsided grin. "I like my simple pleasures." He carried on eating. Macca had had only one, and when he came in again with a second round of teas, there was just one left in the packet. Macca took it.

"Oi!" said Brendan, and as Macca started to take a bite, Brendan leaned over to snatch it in his teeth.

"Brendan!" Macca tried the same trick but as he tried to bite it away from Brendan, Brendan sucked the rest of it in, held the back of Macca's head, and kissed him. Their mouths were a mess of jaffa cake and tongues. Macca pushed Brendan's sleeve back, running his hand along his arm, loving the strength of it.

Kissing and cuddling on the sofa was something they'd never done before.

Brendan ran his hand down the collar of Macca's dressing gown, his knuckles brushing Macca's chest.

"This thing's hurting my eyes, d'you know that?"

Macca untied its belt and shrugged it off, stood up, and offered Brendan his hand. Brendan took it and Macca turned away, so that Brendan wouldn't see how surprised he was by this simple thing, and led him to the bedroom.

The sex they had then was playful and relaxed, and eventually they fell back in each other's arms in contented exhaustion. Macca dared to think that this man might be beginning to love him.

:::::::

As usual, Brendan was the first to wake up. He got up quietly to go to the bathroom. On his way back, he spotted the keys that Macca had given him, unknotted the short piece of string that tied them together, and slid them both onto his own keyring. On a whim, he picked up the string again and took it with him to the bedroom. Gently, he pulled the cover off Macca, and propped himself on one elbow beside him. He held the piece of string above Macca so that its end just touched him, and slowly played it over his lover's body, beginning at his chest and working his way down. It took a minute or two before Macca began to fidget. Brendan was patient and amused. It always amazed him how deeply this lad would sleep after they'd had sex, like Declan and Padraig after a long day in the fresh air.

Macca was coming back to consciousness, and sleepily scratched his thigh where Brendan tickled it with the string. Brendan ran it along Macca's sleeping cock, and Macca squirmed; Brendan did it again, and he opened his eyes. As soon as he saw Brendan, his cock began to harden.

"Ooh," said Brendan, looking at it, "You're awake."

He discarded the string and lifted Macca up the bed so he was leaning against the headboard, making himself some space at the bottom of the bed. Then he parted Macca's legs and knelt between them. He took Macca's cock in his hand and eased the foreskin further back, then teased the tip with his tongue. Macca gasped.

Brendan looked up at him. "You like that, do you?"

"Brendan..." Macca gripped Brendan's upper arms, his fingers digging in as Brendan, his head against Macca's belly, worked with mouth and hands. When Macca came, Brendan lifted his head straight up and kissed him, long and deep.

Brendan pulled the cover over them and they curled around each other on the bed, legs entwined, Macca's arms around Brendan's neck.

"You're dirty, you are, Bren."

"Complaining?"

"Nope."


	11. Chapter 11

This week, Brendan had things to do on Macca's day off that couldn't keep, so he texted to say he'd be there at twelve, tops. In the event, he decided to take the car, so he didn't stay for a drink anywhere and got through his round of the bars more quickly than he'd anticipated.

It wasn't quite half eleven when he let himself into Macca's flat. Macca had company.

"Bren," said Macca. He was startled , but quickly recovered. "This is Matt. Matt, this is my uncle, Brendan."

Matt held out a hand. Brendan looked at it, then looked its owner up and down. So this was Macca's usual type, was it? Matt was almost as tall as Brendan, almost as young as Macca; very blond, and slender almost to the point of fragility, with high cheekbones and wide green eyes. Brendan felt like a brute in comparison. In other circumstances, he would have relished the sight of this young man, but not here and now, in Macca's flat on a Tuesday morning.

"Matt's just come to pick up some stuff he left," Macca said, sensing trouble.

"Has he now?" Brendan looked at Matt. "Got it? The _stuff_ you came for. Have you got it?"

"Um, yeah." Matt picked up a bag from the floor. "It was just this bathrobe really..."

"Off you go then. Family stuff to discuss here. Chop-chop."

Matt glanced from the unhinged-looking Dubliner to Macca, and back again. Macca ushered him towards the door; they kissed on the cheek, and Matt asked, "Will you be okay?"

"Yeah, everything's fine. Good to see you, Matt."

As soon as the door was shut, Brendan rounded on Macca.

"You couldn't keep it in your pants, could you? You filthy little queer!"

Macca flinched as Brendan shouted in his face, but didn't back away. Brendan retreated, prowling the room, his eyes darting in search of evidence of betrayal.

Macca stood near the door, fighting an urge to escape.

"He only came by to get his things, Bren."

"Yeah? So how did he know you weren't at work? You musta been talking." Brendan continued to circle.

"He phoned. I told him I'd be here if he came early. I thought he'd be gone by the time you got here."

"I bet you did." Brendan stopped, and stared at Macca. "Are you fucking him?"

"No! I told you, I finished with him as soon as you and me... Anyhow, you're still sleeping with Eileen aren't you?"

"What's that got to do with..? She's my wife for fuck's sake, course I'm sleeping with her."

This was true. Brendan's contentment in his sex life with Macca, combined with his sense of guilt and obligation towards Eileen, had enabled him to resume some sort of love life with her. It wasn't particularly frequent, and when it happened it didn't last very long; but he was gentle, and affectionate, and Eileen was feeling more loved than she'd felt in years.

"Well I'm not sleeping with Matt or anyone else," said Macca, then in a moment of recklessness he added, "Because it's you I'm in love with."

In a heartbeat, Brendan was on him, his fist crashing into Macca's ribs. Macca yelped with pain as Brendan caught him with an arm round his shoulders and stopped him falling. Macca was doubled over, but straightened up and looked at Brendan in defiance.

"Is that all you've got?"

Brendan landed another punch on the same spot on Macca's ribs. This time he let him fall, and stood over him, breathing heavily. Adrenalin was coursing through his body but he regained control, and what he'd done came into focus.

"Come on, get up. Macca, just get up for Chrissake, okay?"

Macca was curled on the floor, immobile. Eventually Brendan heaved him to his feet.

"I think... I think we need to get you to hospital, get you looked at."

Macca shook his head, numb with shock.

"Don't be stupid, son, you've hurt yourself. Come on, let's go."

Brendan helped Macca down the stairs and into his car. Macca lay on the back seat; every breath he took was agony.

At the hospital, Brendan found a parking place and more or less carried Macca into A&E. It was unusually quiet.

"It's my nephew here," Brendan said at the desk. "He fell down the stairs. I think he's broken his ribs."

The woman took some details, then a nurse took them to a cubicle and did some initial observations. Brendan stood to the side of the bed, twitchy and awkward.

A doctor came and introduced herself, and asked some more questions. Brendan again explained that Macca had fallen down some stairs.

"Is that right?" Dr Rossum asked Macca as she examined him. He nodded. She looked at Brendan: "And you are...?"

"He's my uncle," Macca replied, "Brendan Brady."

"Anywhere else hurting?"

"No."

"You see," the doctor said carefully, "It's quite unusual to have just a rib injury from a tumble down stairs. We'd usually see ankles, wrists, abrasions, concussion... Would you mind waiting outside, Mr Brady, while I examine your nephew?"

Brendan touched Macca's shoulder. "You'll be okay son, yeah?"

He sat out in the corridor, head in hands, hoping the doctor hadn't noticed his reddened knuckles. After a while he went to the coffee machine and pressed the codes for tea, white, sugar, extra sugar, and put in some coins. Nothing happened. He tried the refund button, but it didn't work. Brendan pounded the machine with the flat of his hand four, five times.

"Mr Brady?"

He wheeled round and saw Dr Rossum.

"Machine ate my money," Brendan offered, with a manic, teeth-baring laugh.

"It's always doing that," said the doctor. "Mr Brady, I managed to get your nephew to tell me what really happened."

Brendan's face became a mask as his mind raced.

"He's insisting he doesn't want the police involved," Dr Rossum continued, "But if there's anything you can do to persuade him, it would be for the best. The police are very good on homophobic attacks nowadays, they take it seriously. Even if he'd just give a description of the attacker, it might prevent it happening to some other poor lad."

Brendan gathered himself. "I'll do my best. Thanks."

They went back in, and the doctor explained that she'd decided not to do an x-ray as cracked ribs didn't always show on them, and she was confident that as the ribs weren't displaced, and there were no ominous sounds from Macca's heart and lungs, there was no further damage. It was just a matter of heavy duty pain relief, and time.

"So you're free to go," said Brendan when the doctor had left. "That's good news."

"Got to wait for the medication." Macca hadn't looked at Brendan since the second punch. He sat on the bed, head bowed.

"Good lad." Brendan put out a hand to touch his face, but Macca turned away.

Someone came in with the painkillers, then Brendan supported Macca as they walked to the exit.

"I'll get a taxi," said Macca.

"Have you got any money with you?" Brendan asked gently. "Or your keys? No? I'm driving you."

Brendan tried to make conversation on the way back, but Macca shut his eyes and ignored him. He let Brendan help him out of the car and up the stairs. Once they were inside the flat, he finally looked at Brendan.

"You know what, Bren? You're gonna end up with nobody. I want you to leave now, I don't want you here."

Brendan looked at Macca for a few moments, and took in the overwhelming sadness in his dark, determined eyes.

He nodded once, and left.


	12. Chapter 12

The day after he cracked two of Macca's ribs, Brendan tried four times to call him, but Macca didn't pick up. The next day, the same.

The following day was Friday, and it had been a bad day so far. Brendan had had to lean on someone who was meant to have brought in some drugs for him. It was a girl, Veronica, who was usually pretty reliable; he'd even taken her with him on trips to Europe before now, and more than once she had got him out of a corner by fluttering her eyelashes – or whatever it took – when some zealous official was getting too close.

Brendan didn't like to threaten women, and would never go through with a threat. He relied on Veronica's belief that he would. Her story was plausible enough: she'd had to dump the stuff when things got hairy, so came back with neither the goods nor the money, meaning that Brendan had to try to appease his customers. He chose to believe Veronica's explanation, but left her in no doubt that she owed him. She was going home to England, but Brendan would collect sooner or later.

He was having a soothing Jameson's in Cheryl's old pub when Eileen called. Her voice was artificially bright.

"Brendan, can you come home please? There's a friend of yours here to see you. Danny Houston."

Shit. What was he doing here?

"You okay, sweetheart?"

"Fine. Just get home, will you love?"

"On my way."

Brendan was home in fifteen minutes. Houston was sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee. He had arrived just as Eileen got home from school with the boys, who were now chattering away to the visitor. Eileen was standing with her back to the worktop, cup in hand.

"Daniel," said Brendan, ruffling the boys' hair and exchanging a glance with his wife as he kissed her on the cheek. "Social call, is it?"

"Just passing through, Brendan, you know how it is. Catching up with old friends."

"Come in the other room," Brendan said, "And we'll talk."

They went through to the front room, Brendan closing the kitchen door behind them.

"What do you want, Danny?"

"Thought you'd be a bit more pleased to see me, Brendan." Houston settled on the sofa as if he owned it. "We didn't have a chance to say goodbye when you buggered off from my club."

"I thought we'd got over all that. It was family stuff. Not that you'd know what that means."

"Brendan! I'm hurt. Just cos I haven't got a wife and kids, doesn't mean I don't understand. I like to think of the people who work for me as like a family. There was you and Debbie in Liverpool, for example, like the mum and dad, and the bar staff were the kids. Little Vinnie, say. Til the daddy went and fucked off to Ireland..."

The funny thing was, Brendan liked Danny Houston. He enjoyed his deadpan humour and got a kick out of jousting with him. The two men trusted each other, in an honour-among-thieves way; Brendan had seen what became of people who crossed Houston, but had no intention of doing so himself, so they got along well enough. It was just that when Houston said something cryptic, like that line about Vinnie, Brendan got a feeling that Houston held a stronger hand of cards than him.

The point of Houston's visit was apparently to ask Brendan to look out for any going concerns that Houston might buy into. He had some money that needed cleaning up, and wanted to expand his business interests. Brendan said he would keep his eyes and ears open. The two of them shook hands, and Brendan told Eileen that his friend was leaving.

"Lovely to meet you at last, Eileen," Houston said, kissing her on both cheeks. "Brendan's a very lucky man."

Brendan walked with him to his car.

"Daniel," he said, leaning into the window as Houston was about to drive off. "One thing. You don't come near my wife and boys again, okay? I like to keep things separate. You got that?"

"I know you do, Brendan. Point taken." Houston drove off, leaving Brendan wondering if what he'd said to the guy would be counted against him.

"That fella gives me the creeps," Eileen said when Brendan went back inside.

"He won't come here again, sweetheart." Brendan hugged her tightly and kissed her hair. She looked up at him.

"I worry about you, Brendan. You know, what you get up to."

He took her face in his hands and kissed her, and she responded warmly until Declan came in and interrupted, asking, "Are we going to see Macca now?"

Brendan felt his heart stop for a second.

"Oh God," Eileen said, "I'd forgotten. I got him some shopping, I was going to take it round to him but your friend Danny showed up. I'll have to pop over now."

"I'll do it. You've got the boys to see to."

"Oh would you, love?"

"No problem. I'll take it now."

Eileen sorted out the two carrier bags of shopping she'd bought for her nephew.

"There you go. And Brendan, don't just drop it off, stay with him for a bit will you? The poor lad must be climbing the walls, stuck indoors like that."

"Sure." Brendan kissed her, took the bags out to the car, and drove over to Macca's.

:::::::

He ran up the stairs, but stopped outside Macca's flat and leaned against the wall for a minute. Then he unlocked the door and walked in.

Macca was on the sofa in a T-shirt and boxers with a can of lager, watching a soap opera on TV. He barely looked up.

"Fuck off, Brendan."

Brendan winced. "Eileen got you some stuff. Shopping. I'll put it in the kitchen." He did so, and returned.

"Tell Eileen I said thanks," Macca said, his eyes not leaving the television screen. "Now fuck off."

"What's you problem?"

Macca looked at Brendan, incredulous. Brendan stepped towards him. Suddenly panicking, Macca got up from the sofa, inhaling sharply with the pain of moving, and put some distance between Brendan and himself.

Brendan sighed. He walked closer to Macca, who backed away as far as he could. Brendan stopped three or four feet in front of him, and folded his arms.

"Come here." Brendan's tone was weary, his voice low. His mind flashed back and he saw Vinnie, his face swollen and red, his eyes wide with shock; he remembered coaxing the lad, stroking the uninjured side of his face, telling him that if only he hadn't crossed the line Brendan wouldn't have had to hit him. In an instant of clarity, he knew that as in his past and his present, there would be another young man in his future whose body and trust he would abuse.

Macca didn't move.

"I'm not going to hurt you, son. You haven't done anything wrong, have you?"

Macca was confused; was this his fault somehow? He searched Brendan's face for signs of danger, and took a step towards him. Brendan unfolded his arms, put his hands on Macca's shoulders, and leaned down so their foreheads touched.

"You don't think I wanted to do it, do you?"

"That's not the point, Brendan. You did it, that's the point, and you'll do it again."

Brendan put a finger on Macca's lips to shush him.

"So you want to end this, do you? Just say the word, and we will." He moved his finger away from Macca's mouth and stroked along his jaw. Macca's resolve was fracturing.

"Bren, I don't..."

"You know I can't make you any promises. Things happen..."

"If you'd just talk to me, Bren."

"I'll let you alone, if that's what you want."

Suddenly, tears filled Macca's eyes and he looked as if he might collapse. Brendan caught him in his arms.

"Hey, it's okay. It's okay, I'm here. Don't cry." Brendan held him and rocked him gently. Once he felt that Macca could stand without support, he took his face in his hands and kissed one closed eyelid, then the other. His tongue traced the path of a tear down Macca's cheek, and when Brendan's mouth neared Macca's, he paused an inch away. They breathed each other's breath.

It was Macca who closed the distance between them, so that their lips met in a soft, intense kiss. Brendan again rested his forehead against Macca's.

"We're okay now, yeah?" He felt Macca nod his head. "Good lad. Do you want to go to bed then?"

Macca turned his head away, and Brendan looked at him.

"Son?"

There was a long pause before Macca said, "Okay."

Brendan took hold of Macca's chin and made him turn to look at him again.

"You sure?"

Macca said nothing, but walked past Brendan, got a couple of painkillers from the packet on the coffee table, swallowed them with a mouthful of lager, then went to the bedroom. Brendan followed.

Macca made sure Brendan was looking as he took off his T-shirt. The bruising stretched across his ribs on his right side, livid purple and green at its centre, fading out at its edges. Brendan was shaken at the sight of it.

Macca took off his boxers and got into bed. Brendan stripped off and got in beside him. With the very tips of his fingers he touched the worst of the bruise, then leaned across and kissed it. Macca tentatively put one hand in Brendan's hair, and with the other rubbed his back as if it was Brendan who needed comforting.

Brendan was even more gentle than he had been their first time together. He let Macca sit astride him so that his chest wouldn't get hurt, but after a little while Macca sensed that Brendan was uncomfortable relinquishing control like this, got off him, and lay on his back. Brendan thought that the lad had had enough, but Macca said, "Come on Bren, it's okay." Brendan climbed onto him, careful to keep his weight away from Macca's ribcage, and entered him again. His thrusts were slow and deep. Macca wrapped his legs around him to pull him in fully, wanting the sensation in his pelvis to block out the pain from his broken bones and shattered heart. He clawed at Brendan's backside, and forced a finger inside him.

Brendan's instinct had been to go easy, but Macca pleaded, "Harder," and Brendan gave in to the desperation in his eyes. For a few feverish minutes, they both forgot everything that had happened between them.

When they were done, Brendan lay flat on his back; Macca lay on his left side facing him, his head on Brendan's shoulder, his right arm across Brendan's chest. Brendan rested a hand on Macca's ribs.

For Macca, the physical pain, and the sexual high that Brendan brought him to, and the fear, and the safety he felt with Brendan's arms around him, had all somehow merged together to become part of the love. He felt lost and out of his depth, and the one thing he had to hold onto, the only constant in this confusion of feelings, was Brendan.

Brendan fell asleep. Macca listened to his breathing, watching the slow rise and fall of his chest, and silently wept.


	13. Chapter 13

Macca fell asleep eventually, and it was just after five in the morning when he woke again. Brendan, of course, had long gone. Macca vaguely remembered stirring some hours ago when Brendan had eased himself out from under him; there was the touch of a hand on his face, and the brief sensation of a moustache and stubble brushing his cheek.

He lay for a while as day began to break, wondering how just three days after Brendan's fist had smashed into his ribcage, he'd allowed him back into his bed.

Macca's ribs were throbbing and his back ached. He was sore, and his body felt disrupted where Brendan had been so deeply inside him; he could still feel him there, as if this man had possession of him. Always after he'd had sex with Brendan, Macca felt disturbed for hours, as if he had been through some traumatic event. It wasn't that Brendan was sexually violent: he had never made Macca do anything he didn't want to do, although at times Macca had wondered how he had gone from not wanting something, to having done it, without consciously changing his mind. It was the all-consuming nature of Brendan's sexuality that meant there was always an aftermath.

Catching his breath as the pain in his ribs took hold, Macca got up. He went into the front room and took some painkillers with the flat dregs of last night's can of lager. The television was off: Brendan must have switched it off when he got up, because Macca could remember hearing it in the background as they drifted off to sleep after they'd fucked.

He went into the bathroom. The used condom was in the bin. In the shower, he didn't wash himself but just let the water cascade over him. His skin felt ultra-sensitive, as if a layer had been stripped away and the nerve-endings exposed. He didn't dry himself either, but stood naked, the slight breeze from the open window cold on his wet body.

Macca tilted the mirror to examine his bruise: it looked the same as yesterday, vivid and angry. He swivelled the mirror up again and looked at his face. His eyes were puffy and he needed a shave. Where his shoulder met his neck, just low enough to be hidden if he wore a T-shirt, there was a lovebite - as if Brendan hadn't already branded his mark on him enough. Macca touched it, and recalled how it felt when Brendan slowly bit and sucked to put it there, and how he'd stroked Brendan's hair while he did it.

He tied a towel around his hips, went and sat on the sofa, and tried to figure out how he had been seduced yesterday evening. Brendan had been quiet, his voice a tired rumble. What had he said? Something about not needing to hurt him if he'd done nothing wrong. Was there an apology? Macca thought not, although there was an air of regret, he was almost sure of that. He recalled backing away as Brendan approached him and touched him, first his shoulders, then his face, and then it was a bit of a blur and Macca had found himself in Brendan's arms being told that it was all okay. That was it then, really. He shivered as he remembered the kisses on his eyelids; Brendan's tongue tasting his tears. And then, he was pretty certain, it wasn't Brendan who initiated the kiss.

Still, Macca had had a choice: Brendan had even offered to leave him be. And he could have said no to sex, Brendan had asked him if he was sure he wanted it. He didn't exactly say yes, he was clear about that, but he'd gone to the bedroom with his head saying, _Don't follow me,_ and his heart screaming, _Don't leave me._

Once there, of course, it had become inevitable. Brendan had been disarmingly tender, and before long Macca had practically begged him to reassert control, and Brendan had obliged.

Sitting here now, it seemed almost ridiculous to Macca that he had enabled Brendan to get back where he wanted to be. He felt foolish. The confusion he had felt last night was still there; he no longer knew or trusted himself. He understood in his mind that his love and fear of Brendan shouldn't co-exist, nor should he feel both threatened and protected by him. And yet in Brendan's presence, all these things became possible at once.

That was the answer, there was no doubt about it: just stop seeing him. Tell him on the phone, not face to face. Or better, don't speak to him, in case Brendan's voice caressed him into changing his mind. Just don't take his calls. The love would fade.

Macca stood up and went to the kitchen. The carrier bags were there, the shopping that Eileen had got him, which had been the ostensible reason for Brendan's visit. He began unpacking the groceries, and found among them a card. On the front there was a cartoon of a man in a full body plaster cast. Inside, in Eileen's handwriting, it said _Hope you're running around again soon. Love, Eileen and Brendan,_ and then Declan and Padraig had signed their names and put a line of kisses.

This sealed it. Somehow Macca had always put aside any guilt he felt about sleeping with his auntie's husband, but it hit him forcefully now. He'd made his decision, and he would stick to it.

His affair with Brendan was over. It had to be.


	14. Chapter 14

It felt like deja vu.

Brendan had tried to call Macca after the ribs thing, been blanked, then seduced him again. But since then, he'd tried to call him, and was again being blanked. He didn't understand what Macca was playing at, and after a few days it made him angry when he thought about it – and he thought about it a lot. It was as if Macca had taken charge of the _if_ and the _when_, and Brendan wasn't used to this. He stopped trying to phone him.

:::::::

It was Sunday morning, nine days after Brendan and Macca had been together. Brendan and Eileen were in the kitchen clearing up after breakfast.

"I saw Macca yesterday," Eileen said carefully; she knew her husband wasn't keen on her nephew, scathing as he was about homosexuals. "He's back at work, bless him."

"Yeah? Can't have been that badly hurt then."

Eileen sighed. "It was bad, Brendan. He seems really shaken up. I swear he's thinner. So anyhow, I asked him to come over for lunch today."

Brendan swallowed. "And he said yes, did he?"

"Not straight away, no, but I persuaded him. He needs a proper meal, poor lad. I bet he's been living off tins." She looked at Brendan, who appeared agitated. "You don't mind, do you love? I can't tell him not to come."

"Why would I mind?"

Eileen put her arms round Brendan's waist, and once his arms were safely around her and she was cuddled up against his chest, she asked, "Will you pick him up in the car, love? It's a long walk for him, and the bus is a dead loss on Sundays."

Brendan concentrated on keeping his breathing steady. He didn't know what he was feeling.

"Sure." He extricated himself from Eileen's embrace, worried that she might hear the strange things his heartbeat was doing.

"Thanks, Bren. I'll ring and let him know."

:::::::

Three hours later, Brendan pulled up in Macca's street. He sat for a few moments, then ran his hands through his hair, smoothed his moustache, got out and rang the doorbell, then got back in the car to wait.

It took Macca a little while to get down the stairs. Watching him come out of the front door, Brendan thought he looked nervous. He leaned across and opened the passenger door for him.

Macca got in awkwardly: he was still in pain.

"Alright Brendan?" He fastened his seatbelt, holding it away from his body where it crossed his ribcage.

It was only a short journey by car, so they didn't need to converse much.

"Nice of Eileen to ask me round."

"Yeah. Her idea."

"I guessed that, Bren. I didn't... She wouldn't take no for an answer."

"Macca, you're mistaking me for someone who gives a shit."

They were silent after that.

Eileen greeted Macca with a big hug. Declan and Padraig had never really come across someone with broken bones before, and were fascinated by the idea.

"Can I see?" Padraig asked.

"Paddy!" said Eileen.

"It's okay," Macca said. "You can't see the bones though, Padraig, it's just boring old bruises." He pulled up his T-shirt to show them.

The bruising had begun to fade since Brendan had last seen it, and touched it, and kissed it. He looked at Macca, and wanted to run his hand down the pale, smooth skin of his flat stomach, and slide his fingers into the waistband of his jeans, and touch the soft dark hair above his cock.

Macca saw Brendan looking, and looked away for a second, but couldn't resist looking back. Seeing the familiar dark, direct gaze again made Brendan shiver.

"Put it away, son, you're putting me off me dinner."

"Ignore him, Macca," said Eileen, "He's got no heart."

Macca smiled, and covered himself up.

At lunch, Brendan sat at the head of the table, Eileen to his left, the boys to his right, and Macca at the other end. Brendan's appetite was enormous, and Macca almost matched him. Brendan was attentive to Eileen, praising her cooking, every now and then stroking her arm or touching her hand. He could sense Macca looking as he gently brushed her hair away from her face and ran his thumb over her lips. She was puzzled by this public display of affection; it was unusual for Brendan. But she went with it, and smiled and held his hand and kissed his palm.

Brendan volunteered to do the washing up when they'd finished, while Eileen and Macca sat in the garden chatting and watching the children play.

After a while, Macca came in and went upstairs to the bathroom. When he'd washed his hands he sat on the edge of the bath, trying to get his head straight. It had been okay, staying away from Brendan; it was a sensible decision. But now that he'd seen him, everything was in flux again and he felt his hold on his feelings beginning to loosen. He would go downstairs now, tell them he had to go, and get out while he still could. He unlocked the bathroom door.

"Jesus!" Macca jumped backwards as Brendan was standing there, blocking the doorway.

Brendan stepped into the room and turned the key.

"You've been ignoring my calls, Macca."

"I just... I don't think I should see you any more, after..."

"I thought we'd sorted all that?" Brendan backed Macca against the washbasin. "You were fine when I left you that Friday."

"I wouldn't say fine, Bren. I shouldn't have let you..."

"You were begging for it," Brendan whispered in Macca's ear. "You wanted it more than I did."

Macca shook his head.

With one hand, Brendan took hold of Macca's hair, where he'd grabbed it to jerk the boy's head back for their first kiss. He formed a fist with the other hand and pressed his knuckles against the ribs that he had cracked with a punch. Then he took Macca's lip between his teeth, where months ago he'd bitten through it til it bled. Macca didn't move, and the only sound in the room was his breath quickening.

Brendan let go and stepped back. He looked down at Macca's crotch, cupped it with his hand and felt the budding erection. He smiled, and looked into Macca's eyes.

"Interesting." He paused. "Run along."

Macca pushed past him, unlocked the door and left.

Brendan shut himself in. He gripped the edge of the basin and glanced at himself in the mirror, then leaned over and retched.


	15. Chapter 15

Their encounter in Brendan's house that Sunday, when Brendan had explicitly reminded Macca of all the harm he'd done him, played on the minds of both men.

Macca felt ashamed of his own reactions. Somewhere along the line, the violence and intimidation had moved from being the price he had to pay for being with Brendan, to being part of the thrill. He felt betrayed by his own body, and could see that this was the tipping point: if he stepped beyond it, surrendered and let Brendan back into his life again, he would be lost.

Brendan had gained no satisfaction from proving his hold over Macca this time. This lad's need for him seemed somehow more fucked up than when Vinnie used to keep coming back to him, and perversely it gave Macca power: what could Brendan do or threaten now that would keep him in line? Brendan didn't even know if he'd been hurting Macca to control him, or to punish him for arousing desires that Brendan found disgusting; or if it had now become something else.

They each decided it had to be over.

Both of them felt relieved.

Both of them felt empty.

:::::::

Two Saturdays later, Brendan had been to the park with Padraig and Declan for a kickabout. Brendan had carried Declan home on his shoulders, and the three of them were in high spirits when they got in.

"The post came," Eileen said to Brendan. "Don't know what that one is." She indicated a large brown envelope, addressed to Brendan in handwriting he didn't recognise. It had a Liverpool postmark. Curious, he opened it while Eileen tried to get the boys to change their muddy clothes.

The envelope contained a copy of the Liverpool Echo, dated the previous Wednesday. There was no note with it to say who had sent it.

"That's odd," Eileen commented.

"Yeah." Brendan's stomach knotted with a sudden feeling of foreboding. He began flicking through the pages, scanning them for any possible clue as to why the newspaper had been sent to him. Then he saw it: one news story had been circled in red biro.

The air around Brendan turned cold, and everything went dark except for the words he was reading.

_Police have named the man fatally hit by a stolen car in Barrie Street on Monday as student Vincent Ryan, 20. The driver of the vehicle, a dark blue estate car found abandoned in a roadside ditch near the scene, has not yet been traced ... ... examining CCTV in the area ... ... on his way home from his part time job as a barman at city centre nightclub Number Seven ... ... died in the ambulance ... ... A spokesman for Liverpool Hope University, where Vincent was a third year performing arts student, told the Echo: "Vinnie was a quiet, diligent young man with a bright future ..." ... Club manager Debbie Callaghan said, "We're all devastated. Vinnie was a diamond, he never had a bad word to say about anyone ..." ..._

Brendan closed the paper and folded it up. He stood, and had to hold on to the back of a chair for a moment to steady himself. Eileen was saying something to him; she had her back to him, so she didn't know he had gone until she heard the front door slam.

Brendan hesitated outside the house, not knowing where to go, then turned left and started to walk. Half way along the street he stopped and vomited into the gutter, then carried on walking, the newspaper gripped tightly in his hand. As he passed the church, Father Byrne saw him and called out, "We've not seen much of you since you came back from England, Brendan. I thought I might see you in confession." The priest laughed. Brendan didn't acknowledge him, but kept walking, and heard the old man calling after him, "You know where to find me."

Half an hour later Brendan was in a cemetery, following familiar paths until he came to a halt at the tiny grave of his lost baby daughter. He crashed to his knees and put a hand on the ground, feeling the grass cold and wet between his fingers.

He tried to pray, but no words would come.

When he eventually left the cemetery, he wandered the streets aimlessly. A few times his mobile rang, but he let it go to voicemail. Eventually he stopped, looked up, and realised he had found his way to where Macca lived. He let himself in the street door and went up the stairs. At the door to the flat, he fumbled with the keys and dropped them. Macca heard, and came and opened the door.

"My God, Brendan, what's happened?" He had never seen Brendan look so out of it, as if he was on the brink of a breakdown. Brendan pushed past him into the flat. Macca picked up the bunch of keys from the floor, then came in and shut the door.

Brendan sat down heavily on the sofa, dropped the newspaper onto the coffee table, and slumped forward with his head in his hands. Macca sat down next to him.

"Bren, what's wrong? Is it the kids?" He gently put a hand on Brendan's shoulder, but Brendan shrugged him off.

Macca realised that asking again would be futile – Brendan wasn't much of a sharer at the best of times – so he got up and poured a large measure of whiskey, and put it down in front of Brendan. The bottle hadn't been touched since the last time Brendan had been here, nearly three weeks ago, but it was nearly empty. Brendan downed his drink in one. Macca went to fetch the bottle again, and as he returned, Brendan began to cry, great wracking sobs that shook his whole body as if a lifetime of pain was bearing down on him at once. It tore Macca's heart.

Silently, Macca refilled the glass and took Brendan's clenched fist, prised his fingers open and put the drink in his hand.

Brendan fought to recover, and gulped at the whiskey. His sobbing had stopped as quickly as it had started, but his breathing was choked and he didn't - or couldn't - speak.

After the last of the Jameson's, Macca was at a loss as to how else to comfort Brendan. Sympathy wasn't welcome, so he did the only thing he could think of. With one hand he grasped Brendan's hair, and with the other he reached between his legs. For a few seconds Brendan resisted Macca's kiss, but then he responded, returning it with desperation. They tore at each other's clothes, biting and grabbing, then stumbled to the bedroom. Brendan's hands were shaking and he dropped the condom on the floor. Macca picked it up and said, "Let me," and put it on Brendan himself.

They both sat on the bed for a minute, calmer now, catching their breath. Then Brendan turned to Macca and inspected the bruises on his ribs; he looked distraught.

"It's alright now, Bren. It's nothing."

They both laid down, kissing and stroking, then Brendan parted Macca's legs and climbed on top of him, looked into his eyes briefly, kissed him again and started to get him open with his fingers.

Usually, Brendan's voice was a part of his sexual repertoire: growling instructions, murmuring encouragement, and the deep throated words of praise that thrilled Macca more than almost anything. This time though, he said nothing. There was only the deepening and quickening of his breath, and inarticulate sounds, as sensations ebbed and flowed.

Macca wanted desperately to take away the pain that afflicted his lover. He did everything he could think of that he knew Brendan loved. He'd laid a pillow under his hips so the angle would be perfect. He ran his heels up and down, up and down the backs of Brendan's legs and over his buttocks, then crossed his ankles under Brendan's arse, urging him to fuck him deeper and harder. He threw back his head to let Brendan bite and kiss his exposed throat and play his tongue over his Adam's apple. He said Brendan's name with every surge of pleasure and pain, and when Brendan was about to come, he brought himself with his hand so they both came together, and at that moment cried his name again.

When Brendan rolled onto his back, exhausted, Macca licked his own cum from Brendan's belly and kissed his way up the centre of his chest, then rested there, and felt Brendan kiss the top of his head. They went to sleep together.

For once, Macca woke up before Brendan, still lying across his chest. He got up without waking him, and went to the bathroom. On his way back, he saw the newspaper on the coffee table, unfolded it, and was intrigued to see that it was the Liverpool Echo. He turned the pages and saw the story circled in red. When he read it, he remembered the phone call he'd overheard, months ago at Brendan's house, when Brendan had said, "I don't want you, Vincent, not any more," and shouted at him not to come to Belfast. Macca had never forgotten it, nor the fury it had engendered in Brendan and the violence with which he had reacted when he'd realised Macca had been listening.

There was no doubt in Macca's mind that that was the same Vincent who had now been killed. It was obvious that this boy had been in love with Brendan, wanting to cross the Irish sea to be with him; and from Brendan's reaction to his death, perhaps he'd loved him back.

Macca sat for several minutes, thinking. There was a darkness that followed Brendan Brady, which threatened to engulf those closest to him: Macca could see that now. But he knew that he had passed the point of no return with this man long ago. He couldn't fight it any more.

He folded up the newspaper and put it back on the table where he'd picked it up. Then he went back to bed, and fell asleep in Brendan's arms.


	16. Chapter 16

Emotionally and physically exhausted, Brendan slept fitfully into the evening. He woke at about ten pm, and for a few moments was at peace; but then he remembered, Vinnie was dead. For the rest of his life, he knew that this fact would come back to him unexpectedly and he would feel the loss all over again. He would learn to accommodate it, he supposed, like someone would with chronic pain, but it would never go away.

He thought of the last time they had spoken, when Vinnie had rung him from Danny Houston's phone and begged Brendan to let him come to Belfast. Brendan had called him a stupid little bastard, and told him he didn't want him any more, and the boy had been distraught. And before then, when Brendan was leaving Liverpool, he'd driven to Vinnie's flat but had been too much of a coward to go in and say goodbye. He felt sick.

Macca wasn't there, but couldn't have been gone long as the mattress was still warm where he'd been lying. Brendan sat up, ran his hands through his hair and looked at his watch. He should go. It would be hard enough now to think of what to say to Eileen about why he'd walked out without a word this morning, even worse if he left it much longer. Then Macca came back into the room; he'd been to get rid of the condom, which had come off in the bed as Brendan moved around in his sleep. He was wearing the dressing gown that Brendan always made fun of. He sat on the edge of the bed and stroked Brendan's forearm; Brendan covered Macca's hand with his own.

"How are you feeling, Bren?" Macca knew this was a stupid question. "Want something to eat? You must be starved."

"What have you got?" Brendan hadn't eaten since breakfast, although he wasn't convinced that the gnawing pain in his stomach was hunger.

"Good question. I was gonna get some shopping this afternoon, but then you... The chippie's still open, how about that?"

"Yeah. Good." Suddenly, staying here for a while and putting off going home, seemed like a good idea.

Macca quickly dressed, and ran down the stairs and along the road to the fish and chip shop. It was busy with the Saturday night post-pub crowd, and the longer he queued, the surer he was that Brendan would be gone when he got back. He didn't have enough money for fish, so he just got a load of chips, and ran home.

The bed was empty, but Macca saw with relief that Brendan's clothes were still strewn around the floor, and he heard the shower running. In a minute, Brendan emerged with a towel around his waist. Macca noticed the newspaper still on the coffee table, and steered Brendan away and into the kitchen. He got a couple of beers from the fridge, and they sat at the small table, eating the chips out of the wrapper. Brendan found that he was ravenous.

Macca longed to ask him about Vinnie, but didn't dare: he was surprised that Brendan hadn't already turned on him after allowing Macca to see him so vulnerable, and didn't want to push his luck.

Brendan finished eating, and licked the salt and vinegar from his fingers. Then he looked at Macca, and Macca looked back at him. He thought Brendan looked older, his eyes were tired and the lines around them seemed deeper than before.

Brendan pulled aside the neck of Macca's hoodie, and examined the bites that he'd inflicted. He could barely remember doing it, except for the tang on his tongue when he'd drawn blood on the lad's shoulder. He touched the marks with his fingertips.

"That hurt?" he asked quietly.

Macca smiled. "I'm used to it."

"Are you afraid of me, son?"

"Yes."

"I can't... I don't get why you keep letting me back in, after everything..."

Macca wanted to say, _It's because I'm in love with you, you big idiot. How can you not know that?_

The truth was, Brendan did know that Macca loved him, just like Vinnie had; what baffled him was _how._ When Brendan felt only disgust at his own desires, and what they drove him to do, how could he be loved by these two boys?

Getting no answer, Brendan sat back and said, "I'd better get home."

"Stay."

"I can't." Brendan stood up and went into the front room to gather his scattered clothes, then took them to the bedroom to get dressed. Macca followed him.

"What difference will it make, Brendan? You're still gonna have to make up something to tell Eileen, whether you go now or in the morning. Sleep with me."

Brendan knew that it would be easier to explain being AWOL for a day than for a night as well; but at this moment, it was simpler to stay here, where no-one asked him any questions. He turned to Macca, who came to him.

"Okay," Brendan said, and undressed Macca again, slowly this time.

Macca untied Brendan's towel and dropped to his knees, taking his cock in his hands and licking it from tip to base. But Brendan said, "No," and picked him up, because that wasn't what he needed tonight. He needed to give affection and to get it back, as if to make up for how he had treated Vinnie. Macca understood. He buried his head in Brendan's chest, and kissed the small tattoo there.

The sex they had then was intense. Whenever Macca shut his eyes, Brendan told him to open them, and wouldn't kiss him unless he did. He wanted to witness the extraordinary, unconditional love that he saw when Macca looked at him tonight; Brendan had a feeling that it would end soon, and he was never likely to experience it from anyone else. His children's love was total now, but if they ever found out what he was really like, he was sure it would vanish; and Eileen's love for him had many conditions attached.

As Brendan pushed deeply inside him, Macca couldn't help closing his eyes. Brendan stopped moving, and pinned him down.

"Look at me. Look at me."

Macca did as he was told, and saw that something in Brendan's eyes was already changing. The warmth and vulnerability, there just a few minutes ago, were shutting down, and in their place was something like resentment or accusation.

As Brendan began to thrust into him again, Macca cried out. He could feel the ground shifting, and knew that before long, his lover would be lost to him.


	17. Chapter 17

Brendan regretted his weakness in letting Macca talk him into staying the night.

He'd slept again after they'd fucked for the second time, but woke up around three in the morning and felt desperate to get away. As usual, Macca was fast asleep, his head on Brendan's shoulder and one arm draped across his chest. Brendan carefully extricated himself, holding Macca's head as he got out from under him and gently lowering it onto the pillow. As he did it, he hated the wave of affection he felt for this boy.

He picked up his clothes then went to the bathroom. He didn't stop for another shower, but quickly cleaned himself up, brushed his teeth with Macca's toothbrush, and got dressed. He fished his phone out of his pocket, but the battery was dead.

Before he left, he picked up the newspaper which had brought him the news of Vinnie's death. He almost took it with him, but then thought it would be safer to leave it here, so he put it between a couple of books on a shelf, trusting that Macca would realise that it wasn't to be thrown away.

Brendan walked home through empty streets. He let himself in, shut the front door without a sound, and went into the front room where he stripped down to his boxers. He went through to the kitchen to put his clothes into the washing machine, then came back to lie on the sofa with a throw over him.

He was woken a couple of hours later by Padraig.

"Dad, why are you sleeping here?"

"What's the time, son?"

Padraig picked up Brendan's watch, which was lying on a chair with Brendan's phone and the cuff bracelet he always wore.

"Five minutes past six."

Brendan groaned. "What are you doing up at this time on a Sunday?"

"I wanted a drink of water. Can I stay here til it's proper morning?"

Brendan shifted towards the back of the sofa to make room, and Padraig snuggled down beside him, Brendan's arm around his son to stop him rolling off as he slept.

They were both sleeping when Eileen came downstairs an hour and a half later. Her first thought was that her husband and younger son looked adorable. Her second thought was, where had Brendan been?

A sixth sense must have woken Brendan up, because he knew Eileen was looking at him before he opened his eyes.

"What time did you get in?" Her tone was cold.

"Not sure. Late. Didn't want to disturb you."

"You don't think walking out without a word, and not answering your phone, and disappearing for a whole bloody day and half the night – you don't think that disturbed me?"

"Eileen." Brendan indicated Padraig, who was beginning to stir. She took the hint and retreated to the kitchen. Brendan lay holding his son, wishing that all his relationships had the simplicity of this one.

Padraig got up when Declan came downstairs, and Brendan sat up. He felt terrible: hungry, dehydrated, dirty, broken. He listened to Eileen chivying the boys along, telling them to eat their breakfast or they'd never be dressed and ready to go to Mass. Brendan didn't think she had been going lately, and wondered why she was on that kick again. She left the boys eating and came in from the kitchen with a mug of tea for Brendan.

"Here," she said, handing him the cup. "You look awful. Are you going to tell me what's going on?"

Brendan took several gulps of tea even though it burned his mouth.

"It's nothing for you to worry about. Work stuff. Something that needed sorting, couldn't wait."

Eileen's eyes searched her husband's face, but he was giving nothing away. She tried again.

"But what was it in that newspaper, Brendan? Why'd you just up and go when you read it?"

Brendan exhaled through his teeth and felt suddenly shaky at the remembrance of it. He marshalled his thoughts.

"It was about Liverpool. You know, the club. Something that affects things here. Sweetheart, it's better that you don't know."

This worked. Ever since they'd been together, Eileen had turned a blind eye to the shadier aspects of Brendan's life; she had little idea where his money came from, and most of the time she was happy not to know. His income had fluctuated over the years, but many times he'd treated her and the boys, and he always found the money to pay off her store cards. They'd had rows about it, and she'd made him move out a couple of times when the police had come knocking, but he'd never been charged with anything and had seduced his way back into her good books after a while.

She'd thought he had gone straight when he got the full time manager's job in Liverpool, and for the first time there had been money going into her bank account every month. Good money. That had changed since he'd come home to Belfast: sometimes it was hand-to-mouth again, and they argued about it. She couldn't see why he didn't get a proper job, and was irritated at being kept in the dark about what he did all day and, sometimes, into the night.

This time, though, she accepted his secrecy. It must have been about the people he did deals with; what else could have been in that copy of the Liverpool Echo that had made him run?

"If you say so," Eileen said in a voice that told him he was lucky to be off the hook. "You coming to Mass with us?"

"No. I'm going for a shower."

Eileen shrugged. Then as Brendan was leaving the room she glanced at him, and her hand went to her mouth, and her stomach turned over. On his back she could see scratches and what looked like finger marks.

"Brendan - "

He stopped and turned to look at her, but at that moment the two children came back into the room.

"It's okay," Eileen said to Brendan, "It can wait."

:::::::

Brendan stayed out of Eileen's way, and eventually she left for Mass with the boys. After a while he remembered that his mobile phone had died, and plugged it in to charge up. When it came back to life there were several text messages stacked up, and some voicemails and missed calls. Two of the texts were from Eileen from yesterday, asking him to call her. One was from Macca, from six o'clock this morning: _Hope ur feeling better. Glad u stayed xxx_

Brendan deleted it.

A couple of the voicemails were work-related; he would deal with them later. Another was from Cheryl, about nothing in particular as far as he could tell, but her chatter made him smile. Three were from Eileen, sounding increasingly worried or angry, he couldn't tell which; and there was one message from Debbie, the club manager in Liverpool. In the unnaturally bright tones of someone with bad news to deliver, she asked him to ring her. So, it couldn't have been her who'd sent him the newspaper. Brendan already knew what she had to tell him, but steeled himself and called her back. She answered straight away.

"Oh Brendan, thanks for phoning back."

"Sorry if it's a bit early for a Sunday. How's things?"

"Not so bad. How are you, love?"

"Yeah, good thanks." He wanted to move the conversation on, get it over with. "What was it you wanted, Deborah?"

"I'm... I'm afraid I've got some bad news. It's Vinnie. There was an accident, see, he was knocked down, and he..." Debbie broke down. "He's dead, Brendan. Oh God, sorry, I thought I'd done all my crying."

This was old news now: he had had nearly twenty-four hours to digest it, and Vincent was only a fuck, wasn't he, so why could he feel his whole body turning cold and his throat constricting?

"Brendan? You still there?"

He managed to say, "Yeah. So, do you know if he... When it happened, was it quick?"

"I think so, yes. They said he didn't regain consciousness. I'm so sorry, Brendan, I just thought you'd want to know. You were always good to him."

Brendan's voice was choked. "He's... He was a good lad."

"He was. The number of people who've come into the club and said nice things about him, it's amazing. I just really hope he knew how much he was loved."

Brendan couldn't speak. Debbie filled the gap.

"Anyway, love, I'll let you know when the funeral is, in case you can come over. They can't release the... Vinnie's body til the coroner says so or something. But I'll ring you, okay?"

"Okay. Thanks, thanks Deborah."

"It's good to hear your voice, Brendan. Take care, yeah?"

"You too."

As soon as the call ended, Brendan gasped for air as if he'd been holding his breath. Then he went and got his bottle of Jameson's from the cupboard in the kitchen, poured, and drank, holding the glass with both hands as he was trembling badly. He was pouring a second one when he heard Eileen and the boys arriving home. Brendan drank the whiskey in one, and rinsed the glass under the tap. The bottle was still out though, and Eileen saw it, and could smell the drink on him.

"For God's sake, Brendan." She called to the children, "Go and change your clothes, then you can get out in the garden." Then, to herself, "I've got to get the dinner started."

Eileen had bought the Sunday paper on her way back from Mass; Brendan took it into the front room, and sat turning the pages without seeing.

As soon as Padraig and Declan were out in the garden, Eileen closed the back door behind them and came and stood over Brendan. She took a breath, then asked him, "Brendan? Are you seeing someone?"

_Fuck_.

"What? Where's this come from?"

"You're out all hours, and you've come home with... with scratches and marks all over your back." Eileen was trying not to cry. "Just tell me, Brendan, please."

Brendan stood up and moved to hold his wife, but she brushed him off.

"You're my girl," he said gently. "Why would I want another woman?"

"But..."

"I've told you, it was work that took me away. And if I've got marks on my back, it musta been from yesterday morning, I was rolling around in the park with the kids, wasn't I? Remember how muddy they were when we got back? It musta happened then, yeah?"

He hadn't seen what his own back looked like, so he had no idea if this explanation was remotely plausible. But Eileen accepted it: she was desperate to believe him, and looked as if a great weight had been lifted off her.

"I'm sorry, Bren, I shouldn't have..."

Brendan took her in his arms.

"You don't have to worry about me and other women, sweetheart, I love you don't I?"

"God, I feel so stupid. I only asked you cos Father Gerard said I should get it out in the open."

Brendan stepped back, his hands on Eileen's shoulders, trying to contain his sudden anger: he'd known Father Gerard Byrne most of his life, and hated him.

"You talked to him about us? About me?" he asked, staring at Eileen.

"I was worried, love, I just needed to talk to someone. He was really kind."

"What did he say about me?"

"Nothing." Eileen was puzzled by her husband's reaction. "He just said I should ask you."

Brendan could see that he was unnerving her, and hugged her again. She'd done nothing wrong, not really. Brendan could see that.

It was Macca's fault that Eileen had been suspicious. Macca's fault that Brendan had stayed out until the early hours; Macca's fault that that there were marks on Brendan's back.

He would have to be told.


	18. Chapter 18

The next morning, Monday, Brendan phoned Macca as soon as Eileen had left to take the boys to school.

"I'll be round at your place in half an hour. Meet me there."

"Brendan, I can't. I'm at work."

"I need to see you, Macca, d'you have to bloody argue?" Brendan ended the call, and went straight to Macca's flat.

Macca was puzzled. Brendan had never asked him to leave work to meet him before. He knew that Brendan had needed him badly when he'd turned up without warning on Saturday, shattered from the news of Vinnie's death; but today he didn't sound upset, just impatient. Macca came up with some story to tell his boss, and left.

When he arrived home, Brendan was pacing the room looking agitated. Macca immediately felt wary.

"You took your time," Brendan said.

"I came as quick as I could. What's up, Brendan?"

"What's up? I'll tell you shall I?" Brendan approached Macca. "Eileen's got it into her head that I've been playing away, hasn't she?"

"Shit. How?"

Brendan put a clenched fist against Macca's belly, and ran it up his body until his knuckles pressed on his throat.

"Because I stayed here all fucking Saturday night didn't I? And she saw my back, she saw the marks you made. I had to talk my way out of it." Brendan was barely in control: Macca could feel the tension in him. "Are you _stupid_, Macca? Or, what... Did you _want_ her to find out?"

"Course not, Bren. I just didn't think. I'm sorry."

Macca looked frightened, and Brendan backed off and walked to the other side of the room, where he stared minutely at a poster on the wall of a Van Gogh self-portrait.

Macca stood for a few moments watching Brendan, trying to gauge whether the danger had passed. He decided to risk it, and went and stood beside him, scrutinising his profile as Brendan continued to study the picture.

"So, Eileen hasn't found out anything, then? About us?" He put a hand on Brendan's shoulder.

Brendan shrugged him off, turning to face him.

"_Us?_" Brendan's tone was contemptuous. "What the fuck d'you think this is, Macca?"

Macca's heart was pounding, but he stood his ground.

"It's an affair, Brendan."

Brendan instantly grabbed him by the collar of his jacket; Macca shut his eyes and turned away, as Brendan hissed into his face, "Are you asking for a slap? You disgust me."

"Please, Bren, I'm sorry."

Brendan loosened his grip and moved his hands to Macca's face, leaning down so that their foreheads touched briefly. Then he looked at Macca's mouth, stroking it with his thumbs.

Macca had never seen Brendan so conflicted. He looked up at him and said, "Let me make you feel better."

He unbuckled Brendan's belt and unzipped his jeans, all the while watching his face, ready to stop if he read any warning signs. Brendan leaned his back against the wall. Macca dropped to his knees.

Macca was assertive whenever he went down on Brendan. He knew he was good at it, as long as he was free to control what he was doing. Brendan had learnt very quickly that he could hold Macca's head, if he wanted, and tangle his fingers in his hair, but that if he tried to push things, Macca would pull away and only continue on his own terms. On this one thing, Brendan was willing to acquiesce.

He closed his eyes, trying to block out the turmoil in his head, and concentrated on what Macca was doing to him. Macca teased his tongue from Brendan's belly, down along his cock to its tip, then as it stiffened, he licked underneath from tip to base, playing it there as Brendan's breathing grew heavy. Then he got to work with his hands, and took him into his mouth, toying with him with his lips and tongue, and easing him into his throat little by little. Brendan felt Macca's palms massaging his balls, and felt his hot breath on him, and gasped as he felt Macca's silky throat constricting around him.

They both kept things going as long as they could, until Brendan couldn't contain himself and came with a shudder and a cry. Macca sat back. Brendan's eyes were still shut, and Macca hit him on the thigh to get his attention, so that he was watching as Macca swallowed, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and licked it.

Brendan did up his jeans and belt, as Macca stood up.

Macca moved to kiss him – Brendan was never squeamish about the taste of his own cum in Macca's mouth – but Brendan stopped him. He held Macca's arm with his right hand, hesitated, then with his powerful left fist he landed a heavy punch on Macca's stomach, letting him fall to the floor. Brendan looked at him blankly as he began to get to his feet, then aimed a kick at Macca's gut which floored him again.

That was for tempting Brendan to stay last Saturday night, and for making marks on him to make Eileen suspicious. It was for the knowingness in Macca's eyes: knowing what Brendan wanted; knowing what Brendan was. It was for embodying the desires that Brendan found disgusting in himself, and for feeding those desires. For reminding Brendan of Vinnie. For reminding him of everything he'd done to Vinnie. It was for being alive when Vinnie wasn't. It was for coming back again and again, whatever Brendan did to him. It was for loving him, as if two men could love each other; as if Brendan deserved to be loved.

Macca's instinct told him that Brendan would draw the line at kicking his spine or his kidneys, and so he rolled over so that his back was towards Brendan. He was right: Brendan stepped over him and headed for the door, slammed it, and was gone.


	19. Chapter 19

In the days following his latest beating of Macca, Brendan felt as if he was losing his grip in every corner of his life.

He failed to bring off a drug deal by not keeping on top of the details: this was unlike him. He'd got the timing wrong, and by the time the kid he'd employed to carry the stuff had brought it to him, his client – who'd paid him fifty per cent up front – had gone elsewhere. Unfortunately, the client was Danny Houston, who informed Brendan via one of his Belfast henchmen, that he would still take the gear, but without paying the second half of the money. _For_ _the_ _inconvenience_, that was Houston's message. Brendan made a serious loss on the transaction, but didn't have the energy to fight his corner. And Houston knew where Brendan's wife and kids lived, which filled him with fear when he thought about it.

Eileen seemed to have accepted Brendan's assurances, that her suspicions that he was having an affair were groundless, but he found himself over-compensating. He was exceptionally attentive, and she interpreted this as a desire for sex. In the year since Brendan had returned from England, they had made love a handful of times; usually it entailed a lot of kissing, then shallow penetration: Brendan being frightened of hurting Eileen, and Eileen almost wishing he would.

Doing that to a woman might come naturally to men tamer than Brendan, and less powerful, but to him it felt brutal.

It always left both of them unsatisfied, but lying in her husband's arms afterwards, feeling his kisses in her hair, Eileen would feel loved and protected. She had no idea how much he hated himself.

Although she believed Brendan when he told her that he hadn't been with another woman, the thought of it had made Eileen's longstanding insecurity more acute. She blamed herself for her husband's lack of interest in sex. So, when he came to bed one night that week, instead of nestling against him for a cuddle like she normally did, she pulled off the covers and moved to the bottom of the bed. Shyly, she kissed his belly where the trail of hair ran down to his cock, and took him into her mouth.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

Brendan's response was involuntary. He sat up and pulled away from her, but instantly regretted his outraged reaction.

In all the years they'd been together, Brendan had never asked her for oral sex. It wasn't that he didn't think he would enjoy it: he probably would, if she got the hang of it, although he wasn't sure how he would teach her. Vinnie had been a naive eighteen-year-old with no sexual history at all when Brendan had chosen him, and Brendan had taught him by doing it to him. Brendan himself had started as a teenager, with another boy, and the two of them had worked things out together. All the other men since then, the one-offs, had known what they were doing. And Macca, of course, had been around the block many times before Brendan had got his hands on him.

Brendan felt it was demeaning for the mother of his children to subject herself to him in such a way. He thought back to two or three days ago, when Macca had gone down on him, willingly and expertly. It was different for men. Macca was no taller than Eileen - Brendan towered over him - but as a man there was a robustness about him, and they had an instinctive mutual understanding of the demands they could make on each other's bodies, and what they could take. With Eileen, Brendan felt like an assailant.

She was shocked at Brendan's anger and the way he'd spoken to her. She stuttered an apology, and straight away he was holding her and comforting her, saying he was sorry too, telling her that she didn't have to do anything like that for him. She cried, ashamed. He told her he loved her. It was the truth.

And then there was Macca.

Brendan had taught him a lesson, and as far as he was concerned they were sorted, and could pick up where they'd left off. But he expected Macca to make the first move, and by the end of the week Brendan hadn't heard from him. It put him in a foul mood.

Eileen mentioned Macca once: she'd been into the butcher's shop where he worked.

"He doesn't look well, poor lad," she told Brendan. "I don't know what it is, he just looks kind of... sad. I asked him to come over on Saturday, see if we can cheer him up."

Saturday was Padraig's birthday party, a year on from the one at which Brendan had arrived on his first day home from Liverpool.

On the day, Eileen's sister Annie arrived with her children early, to help get things ready. Brendan had brought home a widescreen television, which he'd taken in part payment from someone who owed him.

Eileen thought the kids might watch a DVD later, once the more riotous part of the party was over, so Brendan disconnected the old tv, and installed the new one.

When the doorbell rang, Brendan answered it. It was Macca. Brendan saw a flicker of fear in his eyes.

"Macca. The ladies are in the kitchen, the kids are in the garden. Take your pick." Brendan didn't step aside, so Macca pushed past him without a word, and went to say hello to his aunties.

When he'd finished connecting up the DVD player, Brendan joined Eileen, Macca and Annie who were drinking tea. Padraig came running in and gave Macca a hug. Macca winced: his stomach was tender from the kicking Brendan had given him on Monday. Eileen noticed, and as soon as Annie left with Padraig to take some drinks out for the children, she turned to her nephew.

"What have you done to yourself this time, love?"

Macca checked that none of the kids were near, then said, "Rough sex. It's what queers do, didn't you know that, Eileen?"

"Macca!" Eileen exclaimed, but he was already walking out of the room. She glanced at Brendan, who looked as startled as she felt. "What's got into him? It's not like him, saying a thing like that."

"Dunno," Brendan said.

"Will you have a word with him, love, see what's the matter?"

"Me?"

"He hardly sees the family these days, Brendan, maybe he's getting in with the wrong sort of people. It's hard for him, with his dad being a bit... you know, about Macca being gay. Please, love, you're the next best thing."

"It's none of our business." Brendan left her, and carried the old television upstairs to his and Eileen's bedroom. He sat for a minute to think. Macca was angry, clearly, which would be dangerous if it made him reckless.

:::::::

The party got going. There were about fifteen children altogether, and Brendan was in the thick of it; he loved kids. Seeing him interacting with them in the garden, Macca wondered how this could be the same man who had hurt him yet again. But he'd seen Brendan vulnerable too, broken and sobbing over the death of Vinnie, only a week ago. His hostility began to fade, and he had to stop watching before he was captivated again. He went inside.

Twenty minutes later, wondering where Declan was, Brendan came in and found him in the kitchen. Eileen and one of the other mothers were there. Declan was sitting at the table with Macca, demonstrating his Nintendo: the two of them were hunched over it in concentration, their heads almost touching as they watched the screen. Brendan ruffled Declan's hair, and then Macca's: Macca felt a familiar shiver run through him, but didn't look up.

Eileen smiled at Brendan, pleased to see him treating her nephew with affection.

:::::::

By the end of the afternoon, most people had gone and the last few were watching a film.

"I'm gonna go and set up the other telly in our room," Brendan said to Eileen, and then to Macca, "You gonna give me a hand?"

Eileen saw Macca hesitate.

"Go on, be a love," she said, hoping that her husband was going to have a fatherly chat with him as she'd asked.

Macca complied, and followed Brendan upstairs. He stood in the doorway of the bedroom, wondering what he was wanted for.

Brendan unplugged their old portable tv and stashed it in the bottom of the wardrobe, then placed the one from downstairs on the chest of drawers opposite the bed. He plugged it in and attached the aerial, then sat on the bed with the remote control to adjust the settings.

"How does that look?" he asked.

Macca had to walk into the room to see the screen.

"Looks okay to me."

"Good." Brendan dropped the remote on the bed, walked past Macca, pushed the door closed and turned the key. He stepped towards Macca, and stood facing him.

"Haven't heard from you all week, son. Everything okay?" Brendan didn't touch Macca, but was so close that they could feel the heat of each other's skin. Macca looked at Brendan steadily, even though his heart was racing.

"You think I'd come back to you, after what you did to me?"

"You were getting careless, Macca. I had to put you straight, didn't I?"

"By punching me?"

"You were out of line."

"And kicking me?"

Brendan frowned at him. "So why are you here?"

"Eileen asked me to come. Padraig's birthday."

"No," Brendan said, and took hold of Macca's hips, his thumbs pressing in hard where the lad's body dipped softly inwards either side of his cock: "Why are you _here?_"

Then Macca was reaching up to Brendan, and Brendan's arms were wrapping around him, lifting him off the floor and crushing the air from his lungs. Their kiss was needy, and thorough. Macca opened his mouth wide: he wanted Brendan inside him again, and for now, his tongue would have to be enough.

The door handle rattled, and the two men disengaged, Macca gasping for breath.

"Dad!" Padraig called, "Why's the door locked?"

Macca sat down on the bed, trying to hide the erection that Brendan had provoked. Brendan smoothed his moustache and opened the door.

"Dunno son, I musta done it without thinking."

"Mum wants you."

Brendan went downstairs; Eileen just wanted him to say goodbye to the last of the visitors. When they'd gone, she asked him, "Did you get anywhere with Macca?"

"We were just getting started when Padraig showed up."

"That's a shame."

"Yeah."

Macca and Padraig came down from upstairs.

"Sorry about what I said before," Macca said to Eileen.

"It wasn't very nice," she replied, but gave him a hug. "We do care about you, you know that, don't you?"

"I'm gonna get going now. Thanks for having me." Macca said goodbye to the boys, then Brendan went with him to the front door.

"I've got the day off on Wednesday," Macca said quietly, "If you want to..."

Brendan nodded.

"Good to know."


	20. Chapter 20

The last time Brendan ever saw Vinnie was when he put the boy in a taxi home from the club, after giving him a kicking for telling Brendan that he loved him. They only spoke briefly on the phone after that, when Vinnie begged Brendan to take him back.

Now, a year or so later, Brendan had got Macca back onside after a kicking. There was no begging from Macca, but all it had taken was a little bit of attention from Brendan, and an aggressive kiss to seal the deal.

Brendan wasn't given to self-analysis: he was frightened of what he might find if he looked too deeply into himself. At this time, though, after the trauma of Vinnie's death, and Eileen's questioning over his fidelity, and with his finances so shaky, he found himself becoming introspective. He wondered if he had some instinct which drew him to the kind of man who would take any punishment and still come back to him; or whether he made them that way once he had them. The thought of it sickened him, compounding the disgust he felt at his own need for these boys. He drank to blot out the questions, even as he counted down the days until Wednesday, when Macca would be off work and waiting for him.

Eileen noticed that her husband was unhappy and distracted, in the rare times he was at home. She put it down to money problems: the cash he handed her when she asked for it was less than it usually was. But she also worried that she had upset him when she'd accused him of having another woman.

:::::::

Brendan was out late into the night on Monday and Tuesday. He was selling drugs himself, instead of paying some compliant student to run the risks and do it for him. He needed the money in his hand. It wasn't for him; he had got by on nothing before, and could do so again if he had to. It was the thought of Eileen and the kids going short that made him feel like a failure, and he would do anything to make sure they would never experience the poverty that he and his mother had endured when his dad had walked out on them.

The beginning of the week was always quiet in the clubs, but Brendan didn't do too badly. Maybe he wouldn't have to raid the emergency cash he kept hidden at home. His escape money.

On Wednesday, he woke up on the sofa with a hangover; he'd drunk some of the proceeds before he came home last night, and must have carried on when he got home, going by the empty whiskey glass on the floor beside him. He listened to the boys getting ready for school, and heard them leave with Eileen, without letting them know that he was awake. The last thing he needed was a row. Once the house was empty, he sat up and sent Macca a text: _Be there at 12._ The reply came immediately: _Do you want to eat? xx._ Brendan sent back, _Ok_, deleted Macca's message, and went upstairs for a shower.

He had a couple of people to see during the morning, and it was nearly one o'clock when he got to Macca's. This was good: Brendan didn't want to appear as eager as he felt. Macca was in the kitchen, barefoot.

"Thought I'd get started, Brendan. It'll be ready in a sec."

Brendan leaned against the doorframe. "What you cooking?"

"It's just pasta. Haven't got much else in."

"Jesus, Macca, you work in a fucking butcher's shop."

"I have to look at meat all day, and smell it. I don't want it in the house too." He was at the stove with his back to Brendan, but it was clear from his voice and posture that his feelings were hurt. Brendan guessed that Macca didn't have much of his wages left over once his rent and bills were paid, and he noticed a new bottle of Jameson's on the side. It was always Macca who bought their condoms and lubricant, too, and Brendan didn't always remember to give him the money for them. He went to Macca and put his arms round him from behind.

"I didn't know that," he said, and kissed Macca's ear. "I was only messing. Pasta's fine."

Macca flinched involuntarily at the pressure of Brendan's hands on his belly, which was still tender from the kick more than a week ago.

"You hurting?" Brendan asked.

"Only if you press really hard." Macca took hold of Brendan's hands, and pushed them violently against his own stomach, gasping at the rush of pain. Brendan spun him around, and they kissed compulsively. Brendan hadn't shaved for a day or two, and his stubble made Macca's face feel sensitive and raw.

Brendan broke away – all he needed to do was stand up to his full height, and Macca couldn't reach.

"Let's eat. I'm starving."

Smiling, Macca mixed the sauce into the pasta and piled it into a couple of bowls. They ate it quickly and almost in silence. Brendan had a whiskey, and Macca had one with water; he'd never been a drinker of spirits, but it was one of the things he'd learnt to endure, then enjoy, since he'd been with Brendan Brady.

Macca went to the bathroom, and when he came back Brendan had cleared the dirty dishes into the sink and was tidying the kitchen. Macca was about to joke that he would make a lovely housewife, but reconsidered. Brendan had a sense of humour, but Macca never knew what he would or wouldn't find funny.

Brendan poured himself another Jameson's, downed it, and followed Macca into the bedroom.

Macca started to unbutton Brendan's shirt, but Brendan stopped him.

"You first." He stood and watched as Macca undressed self-consciously. Brendan nodded his head towards the bed, and Macca got onto it and lay down on his back. Brendan quickly stripped his own clothes off, and put on a condom, then looked at Macca for what felt to the lad like a long time.

Macca was so ready for him. There was a pink flush to his face and neck, and his breathing had quickened. His knees were bent, his feet flat on the bed, braced, and his pelvis tilted. His erect penis pointed towards the ceiling.

"Horny little bastard, aren't you?"

"Come on, Brendan, please..."

Brendan picked up the bottle of lube from the bedside cabinet, then knelt on the bed between Macca's open legs. He gave the lad's cock a couple of desultory strokes, just to watch him squirm, then bent to lick a dribble of pre-cum from the tip.

He pumped a blob of lube onto his fingers, smeared a little of it on himself, then began to massage it around Macca's hole, sliding his fingers inside. It was easy. He played for a minute with Macca's balls, watching his face as he did so, gratified to see the boy's eyes blackening with desire. Then Brendan positioned himself, and almost in one movement, pushed himself into Macca as far as he could go. Macca yelped, and reached up and grasped Brendan's hair, yanking him down to kiss him. He ran his hands down Brendan's neck and along his shoulders, then gripped his tensed biceps as sensations burned through him.

Brendan felt Macca's legs wrap around his waist, pulling their stomachs together, Macca's hard cock pressed between them. The weight of Brendan's body made Macca's breath shallow, and with Brendan's mouth clamped over his, he felt airless and dislocated; the only thing in his consciousness was Brendan on him, in him, around him.

When Brendan felt Macca's fingers clawing at his back, he pushed himself up from him.

"Don't touch me."

It took a moment for Macca's brain to re-engage and tune in to what Brendan was saying.

"Get your hands off me."

This time he realised what Brendan meant, that he mustn't make scratches again that Eileen might see on his back. Before Macca had time to do as he was told, though, Brendan was struggling with him, manoeuvring to grip the boy's wrists tightly and pin them to the bed. For a moment Brendan was still, staring at him as if uncertain, but then his thrusting resumed and became wilder. Macca looked into his eyes and saw fire and ice.

After they both came, Brendan rolled onto his back, with Macca held in his arms on top of him. Slowly their breathing calmed. Brendan put a hand on the back of Macca's head to hold him still, and bit hard into his neck, then soothed it with a gentle kiss; and then they slept.

Sometimes, over the months they'd been together, Brendan and Macca had had sex that was indolent, or playful and exploratory; but it would never be like that again. From now on it was always febrile and combative. The bruises and bites on Macca's wrists and thighs, shoulders and neck, had no chance to fade before they were overwritten with new ones. This was how it would be, echoing the chaos inside Brendan's head, for these last few weeks until the end of their affair.


	21. Chapter 21

Eileen had taken the boys to her parents' house for Sunday lunch. Brendan had made his excuses.

He'd turned up at Macca's without warning, and found him about to leave for the same Sunday lunch. The look in Brendan's eyes told Macca that he wouldn't take rejection well, so Macca had rung his nan to say sorry, something had come up and he couldn't make it.

And then they'd fucked, and fallen out of bed, and carried on fucking hard on the floor, adding collateral damage to the bites and red marks of restraint that already dappled Macca's pale skin. Afterwards they'd had a shower together to soothe their various aches and carpet burns.

They were half dressed when Brendan's phone rang. It was Debbie, from the Liverpool club.

"Hi, sweetheart," Brendan said. He knew she must be calling about Vinnie's funeral. Macca saw the swagger leave him.

"Hi, Brendan love." Debbie's voice was gentle as she explained that the coroner had at last released Vinnie's body to his family, and the funeral had been arranged. She didn't think Brendan would be able to make it, but she was letting him know as she'd promised she would last time she'd rung. As she read him the details, Brendan repeated them and Macca wrote them down.

"We miss you here, Brendan," Debbie said finally. "Keep in touch, won't you?"

"Yeah, course I will. Thanks for letting me know about the... I hope it goes off okay. Take care, Deborah." Brendan finished the call abruptly.

Macca moved to stand beside him. He feared Brendan's reaction, but he did what he felt he had to do, and took Brendan's right hand in both of his.

Brendan let him.

Macca kissed the tattooed cross that covered Brendan's upper arm, then rested his cheek against it, still holding his hand.

"Will you got to the funeral?" Macca didn't expect an answer. He expected to be flung across the room.

"I can't." Brendan sounded defeated.

"You could. It might help."

Brendan shook Macca off him and put his shirt on.

"Why would I? He was just some bloody barman."

"Bren, you don't have to be like that. Not with me. It's okay, you're allowed to have..."

"Is there any chance you're gonna shut the fuck up any time soon, Macca?" Brendan was fumbling with the buttons of his shirt, and Macca approached him and began to fasten them for him. Taken aback that Macca hadn't retreated, Brendan allowed him to help. This made Macca feel brave enough to push things.

"You loved him. It's obvious."

"One more word. One more word, and I swear..."

"Brendan, what can you do to me that you haven't already done?"

Brendan grabbed him, turned him to face the wall, and pushed him against it, twisting the lad's arms painfully behind his back.

"D'you want to find out? Do you?"

Macca shut his eyes, waiting for whatever he had coming to him. But the combination of Debbie's phone call, and the sight of the resigned and fearful young man in front of him, made Brendan think of Vinnie and step away.

Macca slowly turned to face him again.

"You're grieving for someone you loved, Brendan. There's nothing wrong with that."

Brendan couldn't believe Macca had said it again.

"What the fuck's the matter with you? How could I _love_ a... Jesus, I'm not..."

"You're not gay." Macca had heard it all before. "So what have we been doing, then, Brendan? What would you call that?"

"It's sex, Macca. Fucking. That's all it was with Vincent, and that's all it is with you."

"It's not though, is it? We don't just fuck. We kiss, Brendan. You hold me."

"Don't kid yourself. That's a means to an end."

The change from virulence to coldness in Brendan's voice was worse than any punch.

"I don't believe you, Brendan." Macca angrily wiped away a tear with the back of his hand, then suddenly laughed, shaking his head at the bed he'd made for himself. "Why would you need to give me a cuddle and a kiss to keep me sweet? You can batter me and still have me, we both know it."

The defiance in Macca's eyes was one of the things that had first drawn Brendan to him, but this was something else. Did the boy have some kind of death wish today? Brendan felt as if Macca was taking control, goading him to lash out whether he wanted to or not; it would be so, so easy to give in to it and beat him to the ground. The temper was rising in him once more, and Macca saw this with a thrill of fear and excitement. He'd got under Brendan's skin.

Neither man knew which way this was going to go, but the stand-off was broken by Brendan's phone ringing again, making both of them jump. Brendan answered it gratefully.

"Hey, sis. How you doing?"

Macca watched Brendan as he greeted Cheryl. There was an uncharacteristic softness to him; his spikiness was smoothed, just as it was when he spoke to his children. Macca wasn't the jealous type – how could he be, sharing a married man for all these months? - but he envied the people who could have this effect on Brendan. They had the man's love, that was the difference.

As he listened to Cheryl, Brendan's attitude changed from indulgence to alertness. He stood still, frowning as he tried to unravel what she was telling him.

She'd bought a lottery scratchcard and scratched it off and it was a winning card and she'd won two hundred and fifty pounds. Not two hundred and fifty, two hundred and fifty _thousand_, that was it, but she'd lost the card and it was the worst day of her life. But she'd found it again and she wasn't going to tell Brendan until the money was actually in the bank because he was such a sceptic, but she couldn't wait any longer, she was busting to tell him, and Padraig and Declan were going to have the best Christmas presents _ever_.

"It's July, Chez, bit early to be thinking about Christmas." Brendan wanted her to pause for breath, so he could try to get clear what had happened. "A quarter of a million? You're sure, yeah?"

"Yes! They sent a lottery lady round and everything, it's all official, Bren."

"That's great, sis, I'm made up for you." He paused. "Have you told anyone?"

Stupid question.

"No. Well, yes, a few people, but no-one who's gonna con me, Bren, if that's what's worrying you. I'm a big girl now, love."

"Yeah, I know you are. But just be careful, will you? For me."

"Yes, Brendan."

"What you gonna do with the money? Got plans?"

"First thing is, I'm gonna pay off my credit cards. I've been shopping, see."

"Already? Chez, just be sensible, yeah?"

Cheryl launched into an anecdote about her trip to the shops, and it was a few minutes before Brendan could steer the conversation to a close.

"Love you, sis. Speak soon." He ended the call, then said quietly, "Jesus, Mary and Joseph."

"What's happened, Bren? Cheryl's won the lottery?" Macca asked.

"Scratchcard, yeah. Two hundred and fifty grand, she says."

The two of them looked at each other, and burst into laughter.

"I'm pleased for her," Macca said. "She deserves it."

"Yeah. Yeah, she does." Brendan picked up his watch, which he'd taken off when they showered. "I've got to go. Eileen and the boys will be home."

Macca wanted to kiss him, but the mood between them had switched so many times this afternoon that he didn't dare risk it.

Brendan was now preoccupied with his little sister's news, and left, calling, "See ya, kid" over his shoulder as he slammed the door.

A moment later, Macca noticed the scrap of paper on which he'd written down the details of Vinnie's funeral. He ran down the stairs with it, his feet bare, catching Brendan up as he reached the door to the street.

"Take it, Brendan. In case you decide to go."

Brendan hesitated, then took the piece of paper and pocketed it, put his hands on Macca's hips, kissed him, and was gone.

:::::::

Next day, Brendan drove to the other side of town and found a florist's shop. He couldn't go to Vinnie's funeral, he just couldn't. But he could send flowers. He ordered a spray of roses: white ones, because the boy had been an innocent, really. The assistant gave him a form to write down the wording he wanted on the card, and he stared at it, not knowing what to say. Finally he wrote, _In memory of happier times. B._

Brendan paid in cash, walked out of the shop, and got on with his day.


	22. Chapter 22

Brendan didn't tell his wife about his sister's big win on the scratchcards. Eileen had always been able to absorb as much money as he made available to her, but his income at the moment was low, and it had become a bone of contention between them. The thought of his little sister having so much more money than him made Brendan feel inadequate. He was glad for her, but couldn't help remembering the poverty that he and his mother had experienced while his father lavished all his love and resources on his second family, of which Cheryl was a part.

He decided to do a run to his supplier in Barcelona. Because he hadn't yet made up the loss he'd taken on his last failed deal for Danny Houston, he was going to have to use the cash he kept at home: his fuck-off money, his insurance against the future. It was the only capital he could get his hands on. He'd just have to recoup it. He wouldn't fly out straight away, but would give himself time to get some more cash together if he could, and sort out a girl to go with him to entertain his contact and carry the stuff.

Now that he had a plan, he felt a little happier.

:::::::

After their volatile encounter on Sunday, Brendan's next visit to Macca was one evening in the week. Macca had reflected on how close he had come to another beating, so he was wary of winding Brendan up again, and they barely spoke. Brendan didn't stay long but before he left, Macca told him that he wasn't working on Saturday, so Brendan could come round for as long as he wanted.

Brendan found himself thinking of this during the next couple of days and nights. Saturday couldn't come quickly enough. It wasn't the same as it had been with Vinnie, as back then, there'd been fewer complications: living apart from Eileen had made it possible for Brendan to relax, whereas here in Belfast he had to maintain a front at home, as well as in public, and it exhausted him. He needed Macca, badly. Being with him was an outlet for all the pressures in Brendan's life which he otherwise kept bottled up

Macca didn't always know when to shut up, but what he did seem to understand was what Brendan needed, and when. Sometimes it was food and affection, sometimes it was a few drinks and a slow build-up; often, lately, it was just sex. And the sex was addictive. Brendan constantly tested Macca's boundaries, and would feel triumphant when he broke through them and Macca embraced whatever it was that Brendan wanted to do to him or have him do.

Macca was addicted too, because he was in love.

:::::::

On Thursday, Eileen told Brendan that they'd all been invited to go over for the day on Saturday to visit her sister Maria, who had just had another baby.

"Sorry, sweetheart, there's things I've got to do on Saturday. Meetings."

"Brendan! Can't you get it done in the morning, or leave it til the evening? It's three buses I'll have to get if you don't drive us. Three buses, with both the boys. You know what Paddy's like on journeys like that."

Brendan was torn, but a day with Eileen's relatives wasn't going to relieve his stress, and a session with Macca would.

"It's not that simple, Eileen. I can't just drop everything. If you'd given me a bit more notice..."

"Fine."

:::::::

On Saturday, Eileen and the boys got the first of their three buses on the way to her sister's. While the bus was waiting at a stop not long into their journey, she glanced out of the window and saw Brendan across the road. He walked up to a door between two shops and let himself in with a key. Eileen had only been there once, when Macca had first moved in, but she was almost certain that was where he lived.

She got out her phone as the bus took them away. Brendan answered genially.

"Alright, sweetheart?"

"Brendan, just letting you know we're on our way."

"Okay, good. Give the baby a kiss for me when you get there, yeah?"

"How about you? Your meetings going okay?"

"Just gonna meet this fella now."

"Where's that then?"

"One of the clubs. Listen, Eileen, I gotta go now, yeah? Have a good time."

Eileen felt sick. In between refereeing her sons' squabbling, she tried to work out what Brendan was up to, why he was lying to her.

There was no reason for him to have the keys to Macca's place: he barely even spoke to the lad when Macca came round to see them. Unless somehow Brendan had persuaded him to let him use his flat, maybe to meet a woman? Eileen couldn't believe her nephew would betray her like that. The only other possibility she could think of was that it had nothing to do with Macca, but that Brendan was going to one of the other flats that shared the same entrance. Again, she imagined it must be another woman.

:::::::

Eileen didn't question her husband at all over the following days: she didn't want to hear his lies and, worse, be convinced by them. She felt foolish enough as it was. But she had to do something.

On Wednesday morning, Brendan was still in bed when Declan and Padraig were having their breakfast. When Eileen heard him get up and turn on the shower, she hustled the boys out of the house even though it was too early to go to school. She stopped to fish Brendan's keys out of his jacket pocket and put them with her own keys in her bag, then quickly scribbled him a note. By the time he came downstairs, Eileen and their sons had gone. Brendan read the note: _Can't find my keys so taken yours, sorry. You'll have to knock when you get home. E. x_

That was okay. Macca would have to come downstairs to let him in when he got there, that was all.

:::::::

After she dropped the kids at school, Eileen put off doing what she planned to do. She wandered round a few shops, but didn't buy anything. She sat in a coffee shop with a cappuccino, but didn't drink it. It was nearly twelve when she finally made her way to the door to the flats, where she'd seen her husband let himself in last weekend. Even now, she almost turned away: but she had to know. She took Brendan's keys out of her bag and examined them. She recognised their own house keys, but there was also a Yale key, and there were a couple of larger ones that looked as if they might fit this lock. She tried one of them, but it wouldn't turn. The second one worked, and she stepped into the narrow hallway. She knew from the buzzers outside that there were four flats upstairs. Assuming that Macca was at work, she decided to try his door first. If the key opened it, she would have a look around to see if she could find... What? Evidence? Even as she thought it, Eileen felt the absurdity.

Macca's was the first flat she came to: Flat A.

The Yale key worked. Eileen again felt the urge to leave, but she had come this far, so she went inside.

On the coffee table were an open can of lager, a bottle of Jameson's and an empty whiskey glass. Eileen's head began to swim.

She heard sounds coming through the open bedroom door. Silently, she walked across and stood in the doorway.

The room was small, and she was so close to the bed that it took a few moments to work out what she was looking at. Eileen couldn't move, didn't breathe.

Two men, naked on top of the covers. So intent on each other that they didn't notice Eileen. They wouldn't have noticed a bomb going off.

One of them was Macca. He was on his back, almost doubled in half , his legs over the shoulders of the man who was on top of him. That man was older, and looked twice Macca's size. His face was obscured by Macca's leg, but Eileen knew it was Brendan, even though the fact was impossible.

She could see her husband's right arm from where she stood, the veins standing out, the muscles tense beneath the tattooed cross.

There were noises, and there was sweat.

Macca was writhing and moaning, his arms flung above his head in a position of surrender, his fingers spasming as he gripped the pillow. Brendan's hips jerked a frenzied rhythm, rocking Macca on the bed with every thrust. Eileen might have believed that she was witnessing an assault, except that Macca was craning his neck to reach Brendan to kiss him, his desire transparent and total.

The two men juddered to a climax, their cries of release like nothing Eileen had ever heard. Then there was stillness, apart from the heaving of their chests as they began to recover. Brendan eased Macca's legs gently off his shoulders, then slumped on top of him, his cock still buried in the heat of his lover's body.

Macca turned his head to the side to offer his neck to Brendan's mouth; opened his eyes; and saw Eileen.

Brendan felt the shock in the boy and followed his eyes.

The look of horror on Brendan's face jolted Eileen into life. The bunch of keys dropped from her hand and, gasping for breath, she fled.


	23. Chapter 23

Eileen ran from Macca's flat, stumbling down the stairs and out onto the street. She felt detached from her surroundings: everyone around her was oblivious to what she alone knew, that the world had shifted for ever.

She started to walk in the direction of home, but realised that that was where Brendan might go to look for her – he might even catch up with her, although how he would begin to talk his way out of this one, she couldn't imagine. Half way across a main road, Eileen decided to change direction, and nearly got hit by a car. The driver leaned out of his window and swore at her, and when she reached the pavement she felt dizzy and had to hold on to a lamppost. An old lady, a stranger to Eileen, approached her with concern, and she allowed herself to be steered into a cafe to sit down. The woman bought her a cup of tea and ladled sugar into it.

"Thank you," Eileen said quietly. "I'm sorry to be a bother."

"You look like you've had a shock, you poor darling. Drink your tea, you'll feel better." The woman chattered away about this and that, letting Eileen sit in silence. Eventually, she put a hand over Eileen's and asked, "Do you want to talk about it?"

"It's my husband." Eileen's voice was small. "I just caught him in bed with..."

"Oh, my love," the woman said, "That's a terrible thing. Off with another girl when he's got a pretty wife at home. There's no rhyme or reason."

Eileen said nothing but began then to sob, shaking and rocking, until she was too exhausted to cry any more.

:::::::

As Eileen fled from the flat, Brendan too felt that the world had changed irrevocably. He pulled out of Macca roughly, leaving the condom hanging out of him, and began to get dressed.

"Wait, Bren," Macca said. "If you run after her now, the state she'll be in, you're only gonna make it worse."

"_Worse_?" Brendan spat, "How can it get worse?"

"Get yourself cleaned up, then go and find her when you've both calmed down."

Even in his agitation, Brendan could see that this made sense. He went for a shower. Macca got rid of the condom, put on a T-shirt and boxers, and laid Brendan's clothes out on the bed, then picked the bunch of keys up from where Eileen had dropped them. He found that his hands were trembling. Macca knew that things could never be the same again, and saw with sudden clarity his own future, disowned by his family and without the man he loved.

Brendan came back, drying himself, and got dressed.

"Do you want me to talk to Eileen?" Macca asked. "I'll tell her it was my fault."

Brendan exploded.

"Don't you think you've done enough damage already, you filthy little queer? Stay away from me, Macca, d'you hear me? Stay away from my family."

He grabbed his keys and walked out.

Macca stood for a moment, then crashed onto his bed, curled up, and buried his face in the pillow.

:::::::

Eileen didn't tell any more details to the woman who had looked after her, although they sat together for a couple of hours.

She realised what time it was.

"I've got to pick my boys up from school. Thank you... Thanks for being so kind."

:::::::

Brendan began to walk home.

The route took him past a housing estate where he used to know someone a few years before, and he thought of this lad as he always did as he went by. Once, they'd had to leg it when the boy's dad had come home unexpectedly, and they had run all the way up and out onto the roof of the block. Brendan hadn't had him again after they'd nearly got caught like that, but he remembered looking down at the Tarmac below and thinking, _If I fell from here I'd die._

He headed for the entrance to the building, but, passing some kids playing football among the parked cars, he thought of his own sons and turned for home.

:::::::

Eileen didn't know if her husband would be there when she got in, but as the boys rushed into the house ahead of her she heard them greet him.

Brendan was sitting at the kitchen table. He sounded the same as ever, asking the kids about their day.

"Go upstairs and get changed," Eileen instructed the children, and they did as they were told, knowing instinctively that their mother was in no mood to be challenged.

"Eileen," Brendan began.

"I don't want you here. Pack your bags and go."

"I need to..."

"I can't do this now. Just go. Please."

Brendan nodded. He could see that his wife was so fragile she might break. He went upstairs and threw a few things into a holdall. He reached to the back of the shelf at the top of the wardrobe to get his emergency cash, and stuffed it into the bag along with his passport, just in case.

Downstairs again, he asked Eileen, "What will you tell the kids? About me going?"

"I'm not going to tell them I found their daddy in bed with their cousin, if that's what's worrying you." She shot a glance at Brendan; he looked desolate. "I'll tell them you're away working. God knows, they've heard that often enough."

"Thanks, sweetheart."

"Don't kid yourself. I'm keeping your dirty little secret for their sake, not yours."

"I'll find a B&B. I'll call you."

:::::::

He took a room in a bed and breakfast place where he'd stayed once before, when Eileen had thrown him out after the police came calling. That time, she had let him come home once the trouble had blown over, but this time, she wasn't taking his calls.

He cancelled the run to Spain that he'd been planning: if he was unable to save his marriage, he might have more immediate needs for his cash.

Macca tried to phone him, but Brendan rejected all his calls and deleted his texts unread.

:::::::

Eileen was haunted by what she'd seen when she'd caught her husband and her nephew together. Once the initial shock wore off, details began to surface that she hadn't been conscious of at first.

What had seemed savage and animalistic became more nuanced to her. There must have been an element of pain for Macca, sure, from the sheer force of what Brendan was doing to him, but Eileen saw now that the lad was a participant, not a victim. Everything about him had spoken of desire; he had offered himself to Brendan, completely. Eileen had never thought – to the extent that she had thought about it at all – that men could have sex together face to face. She'd believed that they only did it from behind: no eye contact, no kissing. But these two had been utterly engaged with each other, body and mind; so much so that they'd failed to hear or see her when she walked in on them.

She now remembered the moments after the two men had climaxed together. The gentleness with which Brendan had slid Macca's legs from his shoulders. How his hand had lingered softly on Macca's hip, like it did on Eileen's when they'd made love; but unlike when he made love with her, Brendan hadn't withdrawn and rolled off straight away, but had collapsed on top of Macca, the two of them still conjoined. And Macca, when he'd stretched his legs down the bed, had tangled them with Brendan's as if every square inch of skin against skin was precious.

Then Brendan had spoken, and Eileen recalled his voice, low and tender: _You're okay kid, yeah?_ And in answer, Macca's hand had gone to Brendan's head to stroke his hair.

But of all the impressions she was left with, the thing that tormented her when it came into her thoughts every time she woke in the night, was the passion of it. In all her years with Brendan she had never known anything like it, and it broke her heart.


	24. Chapter 24

It was Sunday morning, ten days after Eileen had caught Brendan having sex with Macca. There had been no contact between any of them: Brendan wasn't taking Macca's calls, and Eileen wasn't taking Brendan's. Eileen wasn't calling anyone.

At a loss as to how to fill his day, Brendan had escaped the stifling atmosphere of the B&B and was sitting in a cafe reading the paper. There were no meetings to be had or deals to be done at this time on a Sunday. He took out his phone and, with no expectation of an answer, rang Eileen's mobile.

For the first time, she picked up. Her voice was free of emotion.

"The boys are going to my mum's for the day. Come over in an hour. Let's get this over with."

She hung up before Brendan could respond. For once, he couldn't finish his breakfast.

:::::::

Exactly an hour later, Brendan arrived home. He almost rang the doorbell, but decided that would be too much of a concession, so he let himself in with his key.

Eileen had imagined this encounter so many times now, that she felt an odd sense of calm as she set eyes on her husband. She went to make coffee, and he followed her into the kitchen and sat down at the table.

"How are the boys?" he asked.

"They're fine. Hyper, now they've broken up for the summer."

"I bet."

Eileen put a cup of coffee down in front of Brendan, and sat down with hers. She took a deep breath.

"Have you moved in with Macca?"

"No! Why would I..? I haven't seen him, Eileen. What you saw... It was nothing."

"Nothing? It didn't look like nothing, Brendan, it looked..."

"It _meant_ nothing, sweetheart, it was a mistake, a stupid mistake."

"How many times?" Eileen watched Brendan staring into his cup. "How many times did you... do that with him?"

Fifty? A hundred? What difference did it make?

"A few."

"What, you've lost count?" She waited for a response, but it didn't come. "What I don't get is, how did he get you to do it?"

Brendan was incredulous. Did she really think he was so weak that some scrap of a lad could have that power over him?

"How, Brendan?" she repeated. "How did he _turn_ you?"

"It wasn't Macca's fault."

Eileen laughed. "So it's a coincidence is it, that my gay nephew comes along and suddenly you're gay too?"

Brendan's knuckles whitened as he gripped his cup.

"I'm... What does it matter how it started? It's finished now, you have my word."

"Oh my god." The realisation hit Eileen like a punch. "He wasn't the first, was he?"

Brendan was silent. Eileen covered her face with her hands as she began to piece things together.

"I've been so stupid, haven't I, Brendan? You've been... You've been with other men before. Before Macca. Since when?" She searched his face for any clues to what he was thinking, but he gave nothing away. "Answer me."

"It never made any difference to me and you, Eileen, it was just... a physical thing, just... It's you I want, you and the boys, you're everything to me."

Eileen cracked. She launched herself at Brendan, flailing at him with her fists.

"Everything? We're everything to you? You're a liar, a freak..." Her words dissolved into sobs as she hit him again and again. Brendan protected his face, but let her carry on until she'd worn herself out. Then he stood and put his arms tightly around her, holding her until she was still.

"It's okay. Shh. It's okay. We can start again, yeah? Just the four of us." Brendan meant it: his marriage was his proof of normality, and he wanted to save it.

Eileen freed herself and stepped back. She had regained her earlier calmness.

"No. I don't know you. I don't think I ever did, did I? I can't trust you. It's over."

Brendan started to protest, but his wife silenced him.

"There's no going back from this, can't you see?"

"What about the kids?" The fear of losing them was etched on Brendan's face. It was the only glimpse of his true feelings that Eileen had had today, and she pitied him.

"You're a good dad, Brendan, I'm not gonna stop you seeing them. But you're not my husband any more. I'd like you to go now, please. Phone me when you want to collect your things."

Brendan nodded. He could tell it was final, and turned to go.

Eileen called after him, "You can tell Macca I never want to see him again."

"Don't be too hard on him. He's a good kid."

The fire returned to Eileen.

"You're defending him? You know what, Brendan? He's welcome to you. And it was me that lost him his job, by the way: you can tell him that too."

"What?"

"Yeah, I had a word with Finnegan, told him that Macca had stolen from me and if he didn't sack him he'd lose me as a customer, and everyone I know. He said he'd kick him out there and then."

"He didn't deserve that."

Eileen wasn't often a bitch, but when she was, Brendan hated her: it wasn't fitting for his children's mother, and it repelled him. He walked out, slamming the door so the whole house shook.

:::::::

He drove back to the B&B to park his car, then walked round the corner to the nearest pub and ordered a large whiskey, drank it in one, bought another, and sat at a table in the corner.

"Brendan Brady. Not having a good day?"

Brendan looked up. It was Malachy Fisher. He was someone Brendan had known for years, and there was no love lost between them. Mal had been his sister's first love, and had broken her heart. Brendan had beaten him up for it, although Cheryl didn't know about that. Mal was heavier than Brendan, with the working muscles of a man who'd spent years on building sites, but Brendan was a dirty fighter and so had got the better of him.

Mal had some idea of the kinds of things Brendan had done over the years to earn a living, and detested him. Brendan knew it.

"Come back home with your tail between your legs, have you?" Brendan asked. Mal had moved away to England some time ago, and Brendan suspected that he was the reason Cheryl too had chosen to leave Belfast for that particular village, although she'd denied it.

"Just here to visit the family," Mal answered, not taking the bait. "How's Eileen and the kids?"

"They're great." Brendan looked curiously at a woman who had just come over to join Mal, all black hair and make-up and fake tan. "Aren't you going to introduce us, Malachy?"

"Sorry," Mal said, "This is my wife, Mercedes."

Brendan stood and shook her hand.

"Brendan," he said to her, then he looked at Mal. "Punching above your weight there, son."

Mercedes smiled and sat down, saying to her husband, "White wine, please love."

"Jameson's, if it's your round," Brendan added. Mal sighed and went to the bar.

This was a welcome distraction for Brendan.

The three of them sat and talked. Mal and Mercedes filled Brendan in on what their village was like, and how Cheryl was doing. Brendan gathered, from the way they sniped at each other, that there was a big problem in this couple's relationship. He also realised that he could have this girl, if he wanted, just from the way she looked at him. It amused him.

As the whiskey began to kick in, Brendan found his eyes drawn to Mal. The guy wasn't his type - not at all – but he looked at his mouth, with its slight overbite, and wondered idly what it would be like to feel Mal's stubble grating against his own, and to run his tongue behind his teeth.

He was jolted out of his reverie by Mercedes asking, "So, Brendan, you gonna help your Cheryl spend her winnings?"

"_Stop_ her spending it, you mean?" Brendan grinned at her and winked. Mercedes smiled back, drawing circles in the condensation on her glass with a fingertip. Mal glared.

"Come on, Merce." Mal got up and pulled his wife to her feet. "We're off home on the night ferry on Thursday, Brendan, so I doubt we'll run into you again."

"Yeah," Mercedes chimed in. "His cow of a mother can't stand me any longer."

"Wonder why that is," Mal said coldly.

"I'll give you a lift to the port," Brendan heard himself saying. "I'm getting the same boat. Going to visit my sister."


	25. Chapter 25

Having made the spur of the moment decision to leave Belfast at the end of the week, and go to see Cheryl in England, Brendan felt lighter.

As soon as Mal and Mercedes had left the pub, Brendan finished his drink and walked quickly back to the B&B. The house rules against coming and going during the day didn't apply to him, because he'd charmed the landlady and she thought he was lovely.

In his room, he took out his stash of money from its hiding place and counted it. He'd need some for himself, to pay his way until he sorted something out with Cheryl. He would hand the bulk of the cash over to Eileen, though, to keep her and the children going until he was back on his feet and could start sending money home for them. But there was also Macca: now that Eileen had got her nephew fired from his job, Brendan felt a degree of responsibility. He counted out five hundred pounds from the amount that he had intended to keep for himself, put it in his inside pocket, and left to visit Macca.

:::::::

Brendan let himself into the flat.

Macca was wearing tracksuit bottoms and a T-shirt. He was unshaven, and there were dark circles under his eyes.

"Scruffy little sod," Brendan observed, only then realising that he'd said it out loud.

Macca ran to him and flung his arms around his neck. Brendan peeled him off, and pushed him away with one hand on his chest: this wasn't a reunion.

"Eileen told me you've lost your job." Brendan took the money from his pocket and held it out to Macca.

"What's that for? Are you paying me off?" Angry tears filled Macca's eyes.

Brendan softened a little.

"It's not like that. It's just to tide you over. Take it."

As the lad made no move, Brendan dropped the cash onto the nearest chair.

"How's Eileen?" Macca asked, breaking the awkward silence.

"Jesus, Macca, how d'you think she is?"

"Are you still together?"

Brendan shook his head. "I'm leaving. Going to England, to see Chez. I can't stay here."

"Let me come with you."

"What? No! For fuck's sake, what's the matter with you?"

"But what's to stop us now, Bren? Now that Eileen knows, there's nothing..."

Brendan closed the short distance between them and grabbed the neck of Macca's T-shirt, twisting it tight between his fingers. Macca could smell the whiskey on his breath, and the familiarity of it sent a wave of heat to his cock.

"I don't want you near me," Brendan hissed. "Have you got that? You make me sick."

He let go. Macca took a step or two back, but looked Brendan in the eyes.

"Take me with you, Brendan." It was now or never. "I love you."

Brendan shook his head in warning.

"I love you," Macca said again.

"No. No."

"I love you."

Macca had used up his chances, and Brendan struck him across the face with the back of his hand, sending him staggering sideways. Brendan caught him as he fell, and held him for a moment. Then Macca stretched up to kiss him, and Brendan pulled the boy against him and kissed him back.

Their teeth clashed as Brendan bit at Macca's lips and tongue, holding his head still with one hand. Macca gripped Brendan's arms, feeling the muscles hard beneath the leather of his jacket. Their cocks began to stiffen as their bodies pressed together.

Brendan released his hold on Macca and shook himself free of his grasp, and for a few seconds they looked at each other, both uncertain, both breathing heavily. Brendan knew he shouldn't be here, doing this, but it became in his mind inevitable. He took hold of the bottom of Macca's T-shirt and dragged it up and off, his fingernails scoring vivid tracks on the pale skin of his flanks as he did so. Macca shuddered at the sensation, and moved to kiss Brendan again, but instead Brendan picked him up over his shoulder, carried him to the bedroom and dropped him onto the bed.

Macca wriggled out of his tracksuit bottoms and boxers; Brendan undressed too and fell on top of him. Macca's face was red where Brendan had hit him, and it had begun to swell; his left eye was starting to close up. Brendan kissed his cheekbone softly, and then his mouth roughly. He felt between Macca's open legs and pushed a finger inside him, then tried a second, but Macca resisted and Brendan stopped. He was going too fast. He looked to see if the bottle of lube was still on the bedside cabinet; it was, and he reached for it.

"Yes?" he asked. Macca nodded, and Brendan kissed him slowly and deeply. Macca was reminded why, in spite of everything, he was in love with this man.

"Okay now?"

"Yeah."

Brendan pumped some lube onto his fingers and tried him again, more patiently than before. This time he felt Macca relax, and was able to prepare him. He positioned the tip of his cock where his fingers had been.

"Macca, look at me." Brendan knew that Macca was physically aroused, by the feel of the lad's cock straining against his belly. But he needed him to want him mentally too, or what would that make him? Half the pleasure for Brendan was in bringing his lovers the best sex they'd ever had; amid the chaos that he brought to their lives, he could at least give them that.

Macca opened his eyes. The left one looked sore, but Brendan noticed with satisfaction that as he looked up at him, his pupils dilated.

"You want this, yeah? You sure?"

Macca nodded again.

"So say it."

"Fuck me."

As Macca spoke, Brendan entered him, and with two or three pushes he was in him to the hilt.

Brendan hadn't had sex without a condom since he was a kid, except with Eileen. The sudden intimacy of it, here now with Macca, startled him and filled him with emotion. He dealt with this by pounding into his lover, chasing oblivion, but he came too quickly, before Macca was even close. Brendan lay on top of him, panting, and Macca stroked his back in reassurance.

After a minute, Brendan withdrew and moved down the bed. He grasped Macca's cock firmly and lapped at its tip with his tongue, then took it fully into his mouth and moved his hand to ease his fingers inside him again, finding him slippery with lube and semen. Macca gasped and arched his back. With his free hand, Brendan felt his way up Macca's body. Macca thought for a moment that Brendan was going to squeeze his throat, as he liked to do sometimes, but instead Brendan reached for his face and slid his thumb into his mouth.

Brendan worked on Macca's cock: he didn't do this very often, and had forgotten how good it felt. Macca held Brendan's wrist with both hands and sucked on his thumb, concentrating to delay his climax as long as he could.

When Macca finally came, Brendan moved up the bed again and kissed him, his tongue replacing his thumb and filling his lover's mouth.

Then Brendan was standing up, and gathering his clothes from the floor, and heading for the bathroom.

He used Macca's toothbrush to clean his teeth and scrub his tongue, then got into the shower and washed away every trace of the boy. Then he dried off and got dressed.

Macca had got up and put on his dressing gown, and was in the front room. Brendan had noticed that he had lost weight since they'd last been together ten days before. He looked tiny, and vulnerable, and Brendan felt a rush of shame at how intensely appealing he found him in this state; and a stab of remorse for all the beatings, for not ending this when he first realised that Macca had fallen in love, and for what he was about to say.

"That's it, Macca. That's it. We're done now."

"I don't understand, Bren. If you don't want to be with me, why did you just..?"

"It was just another fuck." Brendan needed him to get the message. He could never be what Macca wanted him to be.

"I'll follow you. To England, I'll follow you."

Brendan strode across the room and grabbed Macca round his neck. Macca shrank away from him as Brendan snarled into his face, "Follow me, and I'll kill you. Have you got that?"

Brendan threw him against the wall and he crashed to the floor.

As Brendan headed for the door, Macca struggled to his feet.

"Brendan," he called after him, "You better hope your next boyfriend loves you too. It's the only reason you get away with it."

"Goodbye, Macca," Brendan said, instantly repressing Macca's words in his head in case they were true.


	26. Chapter 26

**Final chapter**

:::::::

Brendan spent his last few days in Belfast tying up loose ends with the clubs and his contacts, letting them know that he was going away, collecting what he was owed and paying his debts. He didn't want any trouble to follow him to England, or for anyone here in Ireland to have a reason to look to Eileen for reparation once he'd gone.

He saw his sons a couple of times, taking them to the park and for a pizza. Padraig accepted that it was work that was keeping their father away from home, but Declan didn't buy it and Brendan had to tell him a version of the truth: that he and their mother were separating for a while. The disappointment in his child's face made Brendan shrivel inside.

He left it until the day of his departure to tell Eileen that he was going. He went to pick up his belongings, almost hoping that his family would be out and he wouldn't have to face them, but they were home. He took his suits, and whatever other clothes he could fit in a suitcase, and a couple of photographs, and loaded them into the car. Then he went back inside. Eileen and the boys were together in the kitchen, and he was glad to be able to do this with the children there because he knew his wife wouldn't make a scene in front of them.

"I'm going to stay with Cheryl for a bit. Getting the ferry tonight."

"How long for?" Eileen asked.

"Not sure. Here," he said, handing her an envelope stuffed with cash. "This is to keep you going for now. I'll send more when I get it."

"Thanks, Brendan," Eileen said quietly. "I know you will."

He turned to his sons.

"I'll be back to visit, okay? And you can phone me any time. It'll be just like when I was in Liverpool, remember?"

He bent to hug them. Declan resisted at first, but when his dad told him he would always love him, he could tell it was true and hugged him back.

"Good lads."

Brendan hurriedly made for the front door. His wife followed him, and they looked at each other for a moment.

"Sweetheart, I'm sorry."

Eileen hesitated, then put her arms around him, and they clung to each other.

"I'm sorry for you, Bren," she said.

:::::::

The ferry wasn't due to sail until ten thirty at night. Brendan went back to the B&B and spent the rest of the day dozing on his bed; he had no energy for anything else.

:::::::

In the evening, there was something he'd had to do at the last minute, so he was late picking up Mal and Mercedes. They were in the middle of an argument when they got into the car, but Brendan was feeling calm and let it wash over him, even enjoying the sounds of someone else's unhappy marriage imploding. At the ferry port, he dropped them off so they could board with the foot passengers, while he joined the line of cars waiting to drive on.

He slept for most of the eight hour trip, waking in time to shave and put on some clean clothes. He didn't look for Mercedes and Mal when they docked in Liverpool; they could make their own way home, and Brendan had things to do in the city.

First of all, he went to a cafe to buy some breakfast, and took his time eating it and reading the local paper. It was still early – possibly too early, but he was too impatient to wait any longer – when he phoned Debbie to tell her he was in town. She was delighted to hear from him, and told him she would be at the club at ten to oversee a delivery, so he could meet her there to catch up.

It was odd to be back at the club he used to manage for Danny Houston. Brendan helped Debbie check in the crates and boxes ready for the weekend. He'd forgotten what it was like to have a hand in a legit business; he remembered now how he used to enjoy the logistics of it, managing the staff, bargaining with suppliers, pulling the punters in.

When the delivery was dealt with, Debbie and Brendan sat in a booth with a coffee. He wouldn't have chosen to sit in that particular booth, because it was the one where he and Vinnie used to fuck after closing; they'd even slept there once, Brendan on his back on the red leather seat, Vinnie face up on top of him wrapped in Brendan's arms. Despite the discomfort, they'd only woken when the cleaner had let herself in at six in the morning, and they'd grabbed their clothes and hidden and made a run for it when her back was turned. Vinnie had expected to get the blame somehow, but Brendan took him home with him and cooked them some breakfast, then they'd stayed in bed until it was time to go to work in the afternoon. They'd had to arrive at the club separately, of course, and Brendan went first, which meant Vinnie was late for his shift. _My office, now,_ Brendan had ordered, and when Vinnie had followed him in there, Brendan had pushed him against the door and kissed him as if he could never get enough him.

He tried to put the memories out of his mind.

Debbie was older than Brendan, about forty, motherly and warm. The two of them had got on well when they'd worked together; she'd felt safe when he was around, and he'd found her lack of any agenda a relief, when everyone else seemed to make demands on him.

She filled him in on how things had been in the year and a bit since he'd left. And she talked about Vinnie.

The boy's funeral had been well attended: all his workmates had been there, and his friends from university, and afterwards everyone had come back to the club. That had been Houston's idea, and he had paid for it all. This news made Brendan uneasy, and he recalled something Vinnie had said to him on the phone, about Houston seeming to like him.

"Mind you," Debbie said, "I had to have Vinnie's brothers thrown out. Two of them, big lads; they were taking the piss, you know? Necking the free beer, getting mouthy with the girls on the bar. Their mum was lovely though, I had a chat with her. She said the older two used to bully Vinnie when they were kids. They were chalk and cheese, you see, them being a right pair of thugs and him being... well, you know what he was like. Artistic. Delicate."

"Poor kid. He never said." Brendan felt as if his heart was being ripped open.

"His mum said he changed when he left home to go to uni, and came to work here. She said he was happy for the first time. It's funny, I thought he seemed so sad sometimes; but I hope his mum was right."

Brendan told Debbie where he was heading, down near Chester, and she gave him directions; and she told him where Vinnie was buried, and touched his arm as she said, "In case you want to say goodbye."

"Someone sent me a Liverpool Echo," Brendan said as he got up to go. "The one that had the story about Vincent's accident. Any idea who sent it?"

"No, darling, no idea," Debbie said truthfully. "Who'd have your Belfast address? There's only me, or Danny I suppose. A bit weird though, if they didn't send a note with it."

She walked him to the door, and they hugged, then Brendan took her face in his hands and gently kissed her lips.

"You're getting sentimental, Brendan," Debbie smiled.

"See ya, Deborah."

:::::::

Brendan drove in through the cemetery gates and followed the narrow roadways according to Debbie's directions. He pulled over and got out of the car. There were two or three people about, tending to graves, but it was quiet and still on this August morning.

He quickly found Vinnie's grave. It was too soon for a headstone to be erected, and so it was marked with a simple light wooden cross with an inscription in black lettering.

_Vincent Anthony Ryan_

"_Vinnie"_

_1989-2010_

_RIP_

Brendan crouched and touched the settling soil. He struggled to believe that his beautiful blond haired boyfriend, every scrawny inch of whose body he had possessed, now lay cold in the earth a few feet beneath his hand.

The last time they'd seen each other, Brendan had left Vinnie battered and distressed. History had been set to repeat itself with Macca, when Brendan had fucked him, hurt him and left him a few days ago; but in the end, Brendan had made things different.

:::::::

It was last night, when Brendan was on his way to pick up Mercedes and Mal to catch the ferry. His mind flashed back to the last time he'd crossed the Irish sea, when he'd left Vinnie behind in Liverpool. The way things had ended between them had been playing on his mind ever since Vinnie's death, but he had a chance to do better with Macca: at least to say a kinder goodbye.

He did a U-turn and drove to Macca's street.

The flat was silent when he let himself in, and he thought Macca must be out, until he found him asleep in bed. Light seeped in through the cracks in the closed blind from the streetlamp outside, and the room was in murky shadow.

Macca had been drinking: he must have had a lot, to be sleeping so deeply. There was an almost empty whiskey bottle on the floor, and as Brendan approached the bed he could smell it on the boy.

He pulled back the cover. Macca was naked, curled up with his arms around his knees.

"Macca."

Brendan touched him lightly on his back and he shifted in his sleep. He knelt on the bed and lifted Macca up so that he was on his knees too, facing him, and pulled him tightly against his body. The boy was barely awake, his limbs floppy. Brendan buried his face in Macca's neck and inhaled deeply. The heady tang of whiskey mingled with the muskiness of bed.

Brendan ran his lips along the slope of Macca's shoulder, and then bit into it, clamping the smooth skin between his teeth and slowly sucking on it. Macca didn't struggle – he'd learnt not to – but whimpered softly against Brendan's chest as the dull pain registered. Brendan kissed the lovebite he'd made, and then, still holding him close with an arm around his waist, supported the lad's head with his hand and kissed his mouth. Brendan tasted the whiskey on Macca's tongue as he sleepily responded.

He laid him back down and covered him up.

"Brendan?"

"Shh, it's okay, son. Go back to sleep." He stroked Macca's face with his fingertips, and gave him one last kiss. "Good lad."

Brendan would never have used the language of therapy, but as he sped away in his car to collect Mal and Mercedes, he understood the meaning of _closure_.

By the time Macca woke again, dawn was breaking. He thought Brendan had come to him in a dream, until he felt his shoulder and found that his lover had once more left his mark. He pressed on the bruise to recreate the hurt, and shut his eyes to recollect the kiss.

Brendan hadn't given Macca closure. He had given him hope.

:::::::

Brendan traced with a finger the letters of the name _Vincent_ on the wooden cross; then he returned to his car and left the cemetery. He would never go there again.

He drove down through the Mersey tunnel then took the road for Chester, wondering what lay ahead for him.

He knew he would find a new boy for himself: it was a need he had, like eating or sleeping, no point denying it. But he wouldn't choose one as fragile as Vinnie had been, nor anyone like Macca, so out and proud that he'd imagined they could have a future together. No, he would try to find a lad who, like Brendan, wasn't queer: someone who wouldn't get emotional like the last two had.

Keep things simple, that would be the rule.

Brendan wasn't certain which turning he had to take, but he was okay with that. As he got closer to where he was heading, he would just follow the signs.


End file.
